#like what if yeah... what if it's that simple... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

33lol · 23 hours ago

Text

Truth or Dare

Pazzi (paige x azzi)

warnings: mention of sexual content, sexual tension, sex positions, grinding, lap dance, mention of kinks

wc: 3.4k

It was a Friday night, in which Geno gave the team the day off for team bonding. Some of the girls thought well what better way to spend it than playing some games?

KK texted in the group chat,

Huzzkies🫦🏀

KK: Day off + team bonding = meet in Azzi and Ice’s dorm at 7 tn… bring food, drinks, and vibes🫡

Ice: I wasn’t aware my room volunteered itself

Azzi: Yeah now I have to clean bitch

Nika: LFG I’m down

Carol: You’re up to something aren’t you??

KK: …Let’s just say, what happens in the dorm stays in the dorm😏

Paige: Carol, KK is always up to something

Jana: Y’all wild

(Hearted by the rest of the team)

It was supposed to be a simple night—drinks, food, maybe some Dance Moms that Ice has been obsessing over—but KK had other plans.

The girls all trickled in slowly with snacks, stuff for dirty Shirley's, and lots of TruFru. They ordered pizza and clicked the episode of Dance Moms Ice was currently in the middle of while they all ate.

Azzi was in the kitchen making her plate and a drink while everyone chilled in the living room. She thought she was alone until she felt a warm presence come up behind her and rest her head on her shoulder—Paige. Azzi turned her head to look at her,

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.. just wondering what KK is plotting”

Azzi giggled, “She’s so immature”

Paige smiled and lifted her head from Azzi’s shoulder, “Need help carrying stuff over?”

Azzi smiled softly at Paige’s offer, “Sure, thank you”

Paige helped her carry her food and drink over while looking for a place to sit. Everyone had pretty much taken up the furniture—except for the small loveseat that was definitely not big enough for the two of them. Paige sat the food on the side table while Azzi held her drink watching her. She sat down in the chair spreading her legs comfortably and patted her thighs while looking up at Azzi, “Come here.”

Azzi didn’t argue or even give it a second thought. She smiled and plopped herself right on to Paige’s lap with her legs draped over Paige’s thighs. Their teammates all gave looks, but never said a thing. Just small side eyes to each other and smirks from across the room.

The two have always been clingy and touchy with each other. It’s just known to the team that they are like that. What the pair doesn’t know is the team has already secretly planned their wedding and made bets on when the two will profess their love for each other. Until then, the two best friends just flirt with each other, brushing it off as “their dynamic”—while silently wishing the other knew their feelings.

Eventually everyone was done eating and started to get antsy after the episode ended. KK straightened up looking around, “Alright how bout we play some games now!”

Caroline rolled her eyes, “KK your games are never just games”

Nika laughed, “Yeah last time we did something like this, I couldn’t remember my name the next morning from being so shitfaced”

KK scoffed, “Ok well that’s because you wouldn’t answer any questions! This is gonna be better, trust”

Ash waved her hand, “Go on”

KK smiled devilishly, “OK so it’s a mix of spin the bottle and truth or dare. Rules are simple: spin the bottle and whoever it lands on gets to pick truth or dare. If you don’t answer or complete the dare then you drink… drink can be of your choosing, you’re welcome, Nika.” Nika rolled her eyes playfully.

Azzi adjusted herself on Paige slightly, “I’m in”

Paige tickled the sliver of Azzi’s stomach that was showing making the younger girl giggle, “Fine I’ll play”

KK clapped dramatically, “Yay, the parents have spoken!”

The group laughed and all scooted closer. Ice grabbed an empty bottle from the kitchen and placed it in the middle. KK spun the bottle first and it landed on Ash.

KK rubbed her hands together like she was starving, “Truth or dare Ash”

“Uhh truth I guess”

“Ugh ok fine we’ll start off easy.. what is your guilty pleasure movie?”

Ash blushes slightly, “Hmm.. probably Fifty Shades of Grey”

Aaliyah chokes on her drink, “Damn Ash, I didn’t know you were down like that”

Ash and the group laugh as she spun the bottle which landed on Nika.

“Truth or dare”

“Dare”

“I dare you to send Nahiem a nude and then tell us his response.”

Nika throws her head back knowing he’s with his family right now, “Oh my fucking god. Fine.”

A few moments later her eyes widened at his response. The group yells at her to read it.

Nika blushed while reading, “You gonna show me how you took that pic later or what, ma?”

Jana stood up and clapped while others whistled and laughed. Nika shook her head and spun the bottle, which landed on Azzi.

“Truth or dare”

“Truth. Make it count” she said while smirking.

And Nika did just that, “What’s a big kink of yours, Az?”

Azzi’s face went red and she covered her mouth with her hand, “You freak” she murmured.

“Umm.. I mean I’m into spitting.”

The room went silent for a second.

“OH MY GOD”

“BITCH YOU‘RE CRAZY”

A few of the girls said while a chorus of laughter and “oohs” went around the room. Paige tried to hide her smirk, making a mental note of this fact. She pulled Azzi closer to her, leaning in so only she could hear, “What that mouth do tho mama?”

Azzi smacked Paige’s thigh giving her a glare, “Now I’ve got you curious, don’t I?”

Paige just smirked at her with that same confident look she always had. Azzi leaned forward to spin the bottle, making her ass push right up against Paige—which she may have done purposefully. Paige looked down briefly but not before Carol could say, “Eyes up Bueckers.”

Paige’s face went red and she flipped Carol off. Carol just smirked like the rest of the group but Azzi only smiled, not giving in to the satisfaction of turning around to look at her. Azzi’s spin landed on Ice.

“Truth or Dare Isuneh?”

“Truth, Princess”

Azzi narrowed her eyes at her and tilted her head, “Craziest place you’ve had sex?”

Ice giggled knowing her answer immediately, “Your room”

“What the fuck Ice!”

Ice was wheezing now, “I’m kidding! Gampel bathroom at half time.”

“Bro, how is that even possible?” Aaliyah asked.

Ice sighed dramatically, “Let’s just say anything is possible when he lasts two minutes.”

That got the room cackling. KK was bent over from laughing so hard, “I know you did not just say that”

She sighs, “Unfortunately.”

Ice spun the bottle and the game went around the circle for a while. Some girls refused to answer the out of pocket questions and do the crazy dares people came up with, in turn making them extra tipsy (maybe more than that). Eventually it got around to Paige. Aaliyah was the one who had spun and her face lit up when it landed on Paige.

“Truth or Dare Buckets?”

Paige smiled, “Dare”

Aaliyah smirked knowing she saved this one for one of the lovebirds.

“I dare you to demonstrate your favorite sex position with the person of the group’s choosing”

Paige’s stomach immediately got butterflies while her jaw hung open. Azzi tried not to have too much of a reaction but when the group noticed her face flushed all pink, they all pointed at her.

“Azzi you got this one girl!”

“Yeah you don’t want her to have to drink more do you?”

Her mind started racing, but before she could get too lost in her thoughts she felt two hands circle around her waist. Paige leaned near her ear, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Az. I’ll take a shot so fast I sw—”

Azzi cut her off with a soft smile that she only reserved for Paige, “It’s okay, I wanna do it.”

Paige didn’t have time to let those words or their meaning settle before she was pulled up by Azzi.

“Show me whatcha got P”

Paige could feel her face get darker by the second with all the eyes on her. Azzi leaned in a little closer to Paige, “Focus on me. It’s just me.”

But that was the issue. It’s Azzi—her best friend, her soulmate, her person—who she is in love with but can’t seem to get the guts to tell her.

Paige took a short breath and nodded, searching Azzi’s face for any sign of hesitation. All she saw was.. excitement from Azzi.

Paige smirked a little and said to no one in particular, “I don’t have much experience (she actually had only had sex one time but it was uncomfortable and didn’t satisfy her, but the group didn’t need to know that) but this one is an intimate one.”

Azzi tried to keep a neutral face, but as she looked around the room she saw the whole team leaning in with smirks and raised eye brows like this was a telenovela. Azzi locked eyes with Ice and mouthed “Die.” Ice just chuckled, continuing to watch the scene unfold.

Paige sat on the floor with her back against the chair with her legs spread. She motioned to Azzi to sit down, “Sit on my lap and face away from me.”

Azzi did as she was told, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising in her stomach. She gripped Paige’s thigh subconsciously, just as something to hold on to, but Paige took it as a different sign. “We can stop if you want,” she said while looking Azzi in the eye with caution, care, and something else Azzi couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Azzi smiled softly, nodding “I’m ok, I want you to keep going.”

The whole team was entertained at this point, eyes locked and leaning forward.

Azzi now sat on Paige’s lap with her back to her chest. In a low voice really only for Azzi to hear, Paige continued, “Alright now spread your legs for me and pull your knees up”

She obeyed and Paige wrapped her hands around Azzi’s thighs, rubbing soft circles on them. Azzi tilted her head back to look at Paige for the first time in a minute. She would be lying to herself if she said she’s never dreamed about being with Paige like this, but she’s just never wanted to ruin anything good in her friendship with her.

Paige smiled at her like she always smiles at Azzi—eyes sparkling, flushed face, quiet confidence. Then she turned to the group and added nonchalantly, "Preferably we’d be in front of a mirror and she’d be riding a strap.”

Azzi’s breath hitched as Paige turned her head back to her. She was still smiling, but it was softer now.

The group stayed silent, with their jaws on the floor and on the edge of their seats.

Eventually KK says, “Ash here’s your real life person version of Fifty Shades”

Nika cackled and added, “Even I’m wet from watching that”

The group all choked and wheezed for a good two minutes. However Paige and Azzi stayed rooted in the position they were in, still frozen and shocked while looking at each other. The laughter died down a bit and Azzi let her legs fall closed while returning her attention to in front of her, not before Paige caught the subtle smirk on her face. The two got up and sat back in the seat in their original position of Azzi in Paige’s lap.

Paige spun the bottle which landed on Jana.

“Truth or Dare Miss Egyptian queen?”

“Truth”

“What’s your body count?”

“Easy, 3” Jana deadpanned.

Paige rolled her eyes and Azzi giggled.

“Alright my turn,” Jana said excitedly.

She spun the bottle and of course, it lands on Azzi.

Aaliyah laughs from the corner of the room, “Truth or dare Azeray.. choose wisely.”

Azzi tapped her finger to her chin like she was debating what to have for dinner, “Dare.”

“Mmm feisty, I like it” Jana said

“I dare you to give the person of the group’s choosing a lap dance.”

Azzi wasn’t sure if she heard that right, “I’m sorry what?”

“You heard me” Jana said with a knowing smirk.

The group all laughed then said, “Paige!” in unison.

Paige’s face immediately turned a shade of crimson and dragged a hand down her face. Azzi closed her eyes and took a deep breath realizing what kind of night KK intended for this to be—messy.

“I’m drinking,” Azzi said plainly.

The group immediately busted out into protests,

“WHAT NO!”

“Nah you’re lame”

“C’mon Azzi!”

Paige said in disbelief but with a glint of mischief, “Nah y’all crazy for that one… unless,” she said grinning up at Azzi.

Azzi turned around with a gasp, “Not you ganging up on me too”

Paige giggled but softened her gaze silently telling Azzi she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t wanna do.

Azzi stared into those big blue eyes and realized she actually wanted to feed into the chaos.

“Fuck it” she said while standing up.

“Wait actually?” Paige said a little too fast and very eagerly.

“Yep. Stand up.”

Paige grinned from ear to ear, “Mmm yes ma’am”

Azzi shook her head at the older girl’s antics but couldn’t stop her own smile from crossing her face.

Azzi went and grabbed the chair from her vanity in her room and pulled it into the circle of the team.

“Sit,” she said while patting the back of the chair.

Paige did as Azzi said and ignored the comment from Ice saying, “If she told you to bark you’d do it.”

Paige sat down and looked over at KK who was on her phone with a smirk, scrolling. A Brent Faiyaz song started coming from her phone speaker and everyone started howling. Azzi ignored the group, but actually appreciated the background noise as it made it less awkward on her part.

Azzi circled the chair in a slow and smooth rhythm, eyes on Paige the entire time. Paige knew this was what KK meant by “what happens in the dorm stays in the dorm” so before anything could happen she looked around the room and said with a serious face, “If you post these videos anywhere I will actually kill you.”

The group laughed and Paige looked back up at Azzi. Azzi could see the hesitation all over her face. She leaned down to Paige’s ear and whispered, “I will stop if you tell me to, just focus on me remember?.”

Paige nodded while giving her a shy smile. Azzi placed her hands on Paige’s shoulders, slowly running them lower down her chest while breathing down her neck. Paige could immediately feel slick start pooling in her underwear and her breaths coming out short. She closed her eyes trying to hide from the embarrassment but Azzi was quick to say in a low voice, “Paige I want you to watch me.”

Paige opened her eyes that were half-lidded and tried to control her breathing. Azzi had made her way around now standing in front of Paige. Azzi bit her lip as she lifted her leg and climbed into Paige’s lap. Paige had just had her hands resting in her lap not knowing what to do with them and only wanting to do what Azzi said. Azzi saw her fingers twitching and waiting to be given instructions. Without saying a word, Azzi took Paige’s hands and rested them on her hips under her tank top.

The team had been videoing the whole thing so far, still with the music playing and everyone’s baffled faces in the background.

Azzi rested her own hands on Paige’s shoulders and leaned in so her mouth was by her ear, “Can you relax for me P? I got you, just wanna make you feel good.”

Paige pulled her bottom lip between her teeth while squeezing Azzi’s hips tighter. Azzi took this as a sign to keep going. Azzi started her movements, keeping eye contact with Paige the whole time. She started grinding slowly, keeping in mind they still have an audience. She moved her hips in precise circles right over Paige’s core, which was now soaking at this point. Azzi wasn’t doing much better, despite the collected look she had on her face.

Azzi kept grinding at the steady pace, but leaned back slightly only holding one of Paige’s shoulders now and the other holding the side of the chair. This gave Paige a better view of Azzi’s body and that damn belly button piercing she’s never gotten over. Azzi leaned back just enough to the point where Paige slid her hands down to grab Azzi’s ass, just in case she fell back as Paige claimed.

Paige kept her eyes on Azzi, every so often dipping her gaze to her lips. Azzi smiled when she saw Paige’s eyes on her lips which in turn made Paige smile back even wider. At this point they both had taken enough shots earlier in the game to feel a warm buzz that made them feel looser. They were just starting to have fun with each other now.

Azzi moved her body back forward now so she was flush against Paige’s chest. Paige didn’t move her hands from Azzi’s ass, but instead squeezed tighter. Azzi let out a soft whimper only really loud enough for Paige to hear. Paige groaned loudly at this with a toothy grin and slapped Azzi’s ass hard. Azzi halted her grinding and hid her face in Paige’s neck. They both broke into giggles at this and the group immediately turned to chaos.

KK jumped up from her chair running circles screaming

Jana immediately sent her video to the group chat with the words, “Mom and dad gettin naughty🙈”

Nika started rolling on the ground with her hands covering her eyes

Carol announced, “Alright I’ve seen enough porn for tonight.. I’m gonna head out!”

The rest of the group jumped up from their spot getting the memo as well. Even Ice piped up, “I’m staying with Ash tonight!”

Azzi had not moved her head from the crook of Paige’s neck, now realizing how far they had taken it. But she wasn’t embarrassed out of regret, she was slightly embarrassed because she didn’t regret grinding all over Paige in front of her entire team. Paige didn’t move either. She cradled Azzi’s head and held her lower back. Only when she heard the door click and complete silence after her teammates left, did she shift. Paige tapped ass to get her attention.

“Az”

“I can��t look at you”

Paige giggled softly, “Well I’m gonna need you to look at me mama. It’s just us now”

Azzi slowly moved back and lifted her head but still didn’t make eye contact yet. Paige saw her face was warm and flushed. She cradled Azzi’s face with her hands guiding her to look up. Azzi finally looked at her and smiled shyly. Paige just kept looking at her, eyes filled with all the unspoken feelings that have been simmering for far too long.

“What?” Azzi said feeling exposed and seen.

Paige didn’t say anything, she brushed a curl out of Azzi’s face and caressed her finger over her jaw. Paige looked down at Azzi’s lips then back up at her eyes. She thought about everything she could say, but all that needed to be said was, “I’m so in love with you.”

Azzi’s breath hitched and her lips were slightly parted, not expecting Paige to say that. “Are you sure it’s not just the effects of the lap dance talking?”

Paige chuckled at this and inched her face closer, “Baby, I wouldn’t have done anything we did tonight with anyone else. I love you. And I’ve been too scared to say that for some stupid reason. I guess I was worried you didn’t feel the same or that it could ruin our friendship.”

“I love you too P”

“Good… wanna show me some more moves?” Paige asked smirking.

“Depends.. will you demonstrate some more of yours?” Azzi countered with her eyes brows raised.

Paige laughed and tilted her head before leaning in and connecting with Azzi’s lips. The kiss wasn’t rushed like their actions earlier, but slow—purposeful. They stayed like that for a minute, then Azzi pulled back.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before running her tongue over it. Then she asked in a low, rough voice, “Can we go to my room now?”

Paige smiled genuinely and nodded softly at the curly haired girl. She grabbed the back of Azzi’s legs and lifted her up while standing and took them to Azzi’s room, where they would finally share the love they’ve been feeling.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi smut #pazzi

422 notes · View notes

uncuredturkeybacon · 22 hours ago

Text

𝚖𝚒𝚌’𝚍 𝚞𝚙 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it’s just you, paige and a camera you forget is there

You’ve done this a hundred times—more, probably—but today feels different.

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of LED panels and the occasional creak of your chair as you adjust your posture for the fifth time in ten minutes. Your assistant, Em, is in the editing bay making last-minute tweaks to the intro roll, but you can still feel her watching you through the glass with that knowing grin. She’s already teased you enough this morning.

“You’re fixing your hair again,” she says into your earpiece, voice crackling through the comm. “It looks fine. You look fine. Stop.”

You roll your eyes and shoot a sarcastic thumbs-up at the one-way glass, ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks.

Fine isn’t good enough today.

Because today, your guest isn’t just a guest. She’s the guest.

Paige Bueckers.

And yeah, sure, you’ve interviewed top tier athletes before—Megan Rapinoe, Candace Parker, even Serena Williams via video call once—but something about Paige is different. Maybe it’s the way she plays like poetry in motion. Maybe it’s how she carries herself—quiet, thoughtful, deadly on the court and disarmingly soft off of it. Maybe it’s just the damn smile you’ve seen in a hundred slow motion TikToks that fans lovingly post after every Dallas Wings game.

Or maybe, more realistically, it’s that you’ve had a crush on her since UConn, and you’re two hours away from sharing a couch and a mic with her for an hour straight.

“She Scores” has always been your passion project. What started as a niche podcast in your college dorm now pulls millions of listeners every week. You’re known for being sharp, knowledgeable, casually flirty without being pushy, and for asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But beneath all the polish and prep, you’re still just a massive women’s sports nerd who gets giddy when you get to sit down with the athletes who shaped the game.

You run through your notes again—childhood, UConn, transition to the W, off-day hobbies, rapid fire—but you already know you won’t stick to them perfectly. You never do. The best conversations happen when you let things drift. You’re just hoping you don’t drift too far into Oh my god she’s so pretty, stay normal territory.

Em buzzes back in.

“Just got word—she’s on her way up.”

You freeze for a beat, then rise from your chair and take a deep breath, brushing invisible dust off your vintage Lisa Leslie hoodie. You’re wearing sneakers that cost too much and jeans that hug just right, and your hair has been sitting at an intentional degree of messy for the past hour. Cool. Collected. Professional. Mostly.

The knock at the door is soft. You turn as your producer opens it, and there she is.

Paige Bueckers.

And she’s early.

You didn’t expect that.

She’s dressed in a simple grey zip-up and black sweatpants, no makeup, hair pulled back into a loose bun. Effortlessly beautiful. A little taller than you imagined—though that might be the sneakers. Her eyes meet yours, blue and steady, and she smiles.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than you thought it’d be. “I’m Paige.”

As if you didn’t know.

You step forward, trying not to radiate pure gay panic. “Hey! Welcome. I’m so glad you could make it. And you’re early, which automatically makes you my favorite guest.”

She laughs, short and real. “I was scared of LA traffic. Got lucky, I guess.”

You offer her water. She takes it. Her fingers brush yours for a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.

“You good to hang out in the green room for a bit?” you ask. “We don’t record for another half hour, but I figured it might be nice to talk first. Get comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and your heart taps out a Morse code you hope doesn’t show on your face.

You lead her to the smaller side room off the main studio, a cozy space with a worn leather couch, some plants that are somehow still alive, and shelves lined with sports memorabilia—signed basketballs, framed jerseys, candid photos with former guests. She walks past the wall and pauses when she sees the signed Sue Bird jersey.

“You’ve had Sue on here?” she asks, blinking.

You grin. “Yeah. She wore that jersey the first time we talked. She signed it after I beat her in a game of HORSE.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You beat Sue Bird in HORSE?”

“Well, technically, I distracted her by asking about her some dumbass question, but a win is a win.”

She smiles again—wider this time—and sinks into the couch, folding one leg under herself.

“So, do I get the same treatment?” she asks. “You gonna ambush me with personal questions?”

“Nope,” you reply, sitting across from her. “I already know pretty much a lot. Twitter’s been over that since the UConn days.”

She groans softly, tipping her head back. “God. Twitter knows too much.”

You watch her for a moment, just… existing. Relaxed. Present. And you realize she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys small talk for its own sake. But you also don’t want to jump right into deep questions.

“You nervous?” you ask instead. Simple. Honest.

She shrugs. “A little. I’ve seen your podcast before. You don’t really let people off the hook.”

You smirk. “That’s true. But you’re in good hands.”

She looks at you, and something flickers between you. Not full-blown tension yet, but something.

You glance down at your phone, pretending to check the time. You’re stalling, which is dumb. You never stall.

“You wanna run through the outline real quick?” you offer. “Just to know what’s coming.”

She tilts her head. “Or… we could wing it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winging it with a podcaster is dangerous, Bueckers.”

“I like dangerous,” she says, then blinks like she didn’t mean to say it quite like that.

You catch it. You catch everything.

“Well,” you say, standing, “let’s give the people what they want.”

She follows you back into the studio, her presence magnetic even in silence. Your team starts final checks—lighting, mic levels, camera angles. You settle onto the couch next to her, not too close, not too far. You adjust your notes, but your hands aren’t shaking.

Not anymore.

She turns to you, just before you go live.

“You good?” she asks.

It’s simple, but the way she says it—grounded, like she sees you—settles something in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting her eyes. “You?”

She nods once. “Let’s do it.”

The red light is on, the music fades out, and you smile into the mic.

“Welcome back to She Scores, the podcast that unapologetically talks all things women’s sports—from buzzer beaters to backdoor cuts and everything in between. I’m your host, and today… listen. You already know. I don’t even need to hype this up but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You turn your body slightly, just enough to face her.

“Joining me in the studio is a certified bucket. UConn royalty. NCAA Player of the Year, ESPY winner, national champion, and now… Dallas Wings rookie and all-around media mystery—Paige Bueckers. Paige, hi.”

She’s already smiling, eyes wide and slightly amused. She leans forward, adjusting the mic with practiced ease.

“Hey. Wow. That was… a lot.”

You smirk. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Just�� you made me sound way cooler than I feel.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” you tease. “Making legends sound approachable.”

She lets out a little breath, like she’s trying not to smile harder than she should. Already, the chemistry crackles—not obvious to the untrained eye, but fans at home are going to pick up on this. Especially the ones with compilation and edit accounts.

“So how does it feel?” you ask. “The WNBA. First season. First media tour. Sitting across from me. Try not to be overwhelmed.”

She laughs again, easing into her seat. “It’s surreal. All of it. Some days I wake up and still feel like I’m on a college schedule. Like I’m supposed to be running sprints at 6AM.”

“Trauma.”

“Literal trauma,” she confirms, mock serious.

You nod. “We’ll get into UConn trauma in a second. But first, let’s take it back. Way, way back. Minnesota. Hopkins. Little Paigey. What’s your first basketball memory?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “I think I was maybe three? My dad had this mini hoop in our living room. The kind that’s too low for anyone over four feet tall.”

“Unfair advantage,” you interject.

“Exactly. But I remember shooting on that every day. He taught me how to pass. We’d play these one on one games—he’d let me score just enough to keep me hooked. And then when I finally beat him for real, I cried.”

“Wait, you cried?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost sheepish. “Like ugly cried. I didn’t know what to do with the win.”

“That’s deeply poetic,” you say. “Beating the person who taught you. The origin story of a future number one overall pick.”

She shrugs, but she’s glowing a little. “I just liked the sound of the ball going through the net. I still do.”

There’s a moment there—small, golden. You don’t rush it.

“You talk about that sound like it’s music.”

She glances at you. “It kinda is, right?”

Your smile deepens. “See, this is why I’m glad this isn’t a live podcast. People would already be tweeting unhinged things. Like we’re flirting.”

She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—a flash of interest, maybe curiosity. “Are we?”

“Dunno,” you say, flipping a pen between your fingers. “We’ll let the comment section decide.”

She leans forward a bit more, playful. “Dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous,” you echo, and there it is again—like you’re circling something neither of you fully plan to name. You redirect, but only slightly. “So when did it get serious? Like, serious serious. When did Paige Bueckers go from ‘cute kid with a mini hoop’ to ‘national recruit and Gatorade Player of the Year’?”

Her smile fades into something more grounded, thoughtful.

“Probably middle school. I was playing up against older kids. My coaches were honest with me early—they told me I had potential, but I had to want it. Like, really want it.”

You nod, sipping from your water as you watch her speak. “And you did.”

“I did,” she says. “I still do. I don’t think that’s ever changed.”

You scribble something in your notebook, not because you need to, but because you need to look away for a second. The way she talks—low, deliberate, with that quiet confidence—makes it a little hard to keep your cool. You’ve interviewed charismatic people before. But Paige? She’s that rare mix of humble and magnetic. The kind that makes you forget you’re working.

“Talk to me about Hopkins,” you say. “You were a walking headline by, like, freshman year.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh. I was also a walking awkward phase.”

“You and every lesbian born in the early 2000s,” you reply.

She laughs, covering her mouth for a second. “I didn’t even know back then—”

“Oh, sweetie,” you say, deadpan. “We all knew.”

She tilts her head, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you outing me on my own episode?”

“Absolutely not. But girl, be so for real right now.”

“Wow,” she says, laughing, “this is targeted.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Just doing my journalistic duty.”

The banter flows, faster now. She’s open, unguarded. You ask about pressure, expectations, media narratives. She gives measured but honest responses. You don’t grill—never do—but you go deep, and she meets you there.

You click your pen like it matters, but you’re not taking notes anymore. Not really. You’re just watching her speak—fluid, honest, careful in a way that doesn’t hide anything but still keeps a part of her close to the chest.

“So, let’s talk about it,” you say, leaning back in your chair, mic close to your mouth. “The elephant in the room.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, amused. “There’s an elephant?”

“There is,” you nod seriously. “Its name is Geno Auriemma.”

She laughs—light, warm, fond.

“Oh, God.”

“No, no, we’re gonna go there,” you grin. “Because we’ve talked about Minnesota, we’ve talked about middle school, we’ve talked about how you terrorized local basketball courts by age twelve. But I want to know—why UConn? Why Geno? You had offers from literally everyone.”

She exhales slowly, as if this is a question she’s answered before but never gets tired of answering.

“I think... deep down, I always knew.”

“Why though?”

“The legacy,” she says first. “The culture. The players who came before me. It wasn’t just about playing at a top program. It was about pressure. UConn has this... weight to it. You don’t go there unless you’re willing to be great.”

You tilt your head, lips curling.

“So you just wanted to be surrounded by greatness?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Kind of like right now.”

You cough, trying to cover the grin that breaks out too fast.

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you flirting with your host mid answer?”

“You started it.”

“Very unprofessional. I’m literally just doing my job.”

“And doing it very well,” she says, with zero hesitation.

You blink. The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just you. You pull it back together, even if it takes effort.

“Okay. Back on track before I combust,” you mutter. “UConn. Talk me through it. Year one. Year two. Everything.”

She exhales again, a little softer now.

“It changed me,” she says simply.

You let the pause settle. “How?”

She looks at the ceiling, then down at her hands, fingers lightly curled in her lap. “I think there’s this myth that when you get to a place like UConn, you arrive fully formed. Like, you’re already who you’re supposed to be. But I wasn’t. Not even close.”

You nod, gently. “None of us are at eighteen.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I was confident on the court, yeah. But everything off it? The pressure. The expectations. The comparisons. It messed with my head.”

There’s no pity in your expression—just knowing. You’ve watched too many athletes burn out under the same spotlight.

“I got hurt, too,” she continues. “Sophomore year. That knee.”

Your voice softens. “I remember.”

“Everyone remembers. It’s weird, you know? Being reduced to a timeline. ‘Six weeks out. Six months. A year. Will she be back for March? Is she ever gonna be the same?’ I stopped being a person and started being... a question.”

You don’t rush in with sympathy. You just let her have the silence. She fills it naturally.

“But I had people,” she says, voice gentler now. “My teammates. The trainers. Geno.”

“What was he like through that?” you ask. “Because people love to paint him as this gruff, yelling machine.”

She grins. “He is. But also... he listens. When you let him. When I was quiet—too quiet—he noticed. And he pulled me aside one day after practice. Didn’t yell. Just said, ‘I know it sucks. But you’re still here. That matters.’”

You write that quote down before you realize you’re doing it.

You glance at her again, and she’s watching you with a kind of cautious ease, like she’s not used to people writing her words down without turning them into headlines.

You smile. “You grew up at UConn.”

She nods. “I really did.”

“Who was your rock while you were there?”

“Azzi,” she says immediately.

There’s a new kind of stillness in her voice. Familial, rooted, undeniable.

“Azzi was—she is—one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met,” Paige continues. “Like, I’d be on the couch recovering and she’d come in from shooting for two hours and say, ‘Want to play Uno?’ Like it was nothing.”

You laugh. “What’s the Uno score between you two?”

“Oh, I stopped keeping track when I realized she cheats.”

“She what?”

“Allegedly,” Paige adds, eyes twinkling.

You grin. “I’m putting that in the episode title. ‘Paige Bueckers Accuses Azzi Fudd of Cheating at Uno.’”

“She’s gonna kill me,” Paige laughs.

“She’ll love it.” You hesitate. “It sounds like you really leaned on her.”

“I did,” she says. “But not just for the injuries or the hard stuff. For the little stuff too. Like, post-game takeout orders. Netflix recs. The stupid stuff that makes it all feel normal.”

“And what about team chemistry?” you ask. “Because from the outside, that UConn squad felt... locked in. Like you’d die for each other.”

“We would’ve,” she says softly.

You’re quiet for a beat. “That real, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our fights. We had our off days. But we always knew how to come back to center. I think that’s what made it work.”

You sit in that. The weight of it. The warmth.

“What was the moment you knew,” you ask slowly, “that you weren’t just good—you were built for this?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her mouth moves around the air like she’s sifting through time.

“There was a game my junior year,” she says. “We were down at halftime. I’d missed, like, seven shots. Geno told me I looked like I forgot who I was.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Classic.”

“Yeah. But it hit me. Because he was right. I’d let doubt take over. So the second half, I didn’t think. I just played. And I think I had, like... seventeen points in the third quarter alone.”

You whistle. “That’s not just playing. That’s poetry.”

She shrugs. “That’s UConn.”

You glance down, heart still tight from the way she said all of it—like she left pieces of herself behind on that court.

“You ever miss it?” you ask gently.

She nods, quick. “All the time.”

“What do you miss most?”

There’s a pause. Then, “The routine. The locker room. The smell of old sweat and bad jokes. Running suicides and pretending not to cry. Group chats about who forgot to bring their shoes. You know—real team stuff.”

“God,” you murmur, laughing, “that’s weirdly specific and deeply nostalgic.”

She grins. “It’s the stuff no one sees that sticks.” You nod again, feeling it. You’ve never been a college athlete, but you’ve been on enough sidelines to understand how those echoes live in you long after the lights fade. “And I trusted my gut when I went there. I still do.” You lift your gaze. Her voice drops, just slightly. “It’s never let me down.”

Your breath hitches.

Something about the way she says it—low, unwavering, not for show—cracks open a tiny place in you. You mirror it without thinking.

“I know what you mean,” you say. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

There’s a beat. Neither of you look away. Neither of you speak. The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, not forced. Just... full.

If Em were in the room, she’d throw something at you. If your editor were watching live, they’d be marking timestamps for clips. You only break the stare because you have to. Not because you want to. You glance down at your notes, which might as well be written in a foreign language now. Nothing on the page matters as much as the thing still buzzing between you and her. When you look back up, Paige is watching you like she’s been doing it the whole time.

You clear your throat. “Well. That was a moment.”

She tilts her head. “Was it?”

“I think I blacked out.”

She laughs, soft and low. “You should trust your gut more.”

You smile, a little breathless. “I think I just did.”

The mics are still rolling. But it doesn’t feel like they’re there.

You ease into the next part of the conversation with practiced grace, but inside, your heart’s still caught on that last moment. The weight of her words. The look that didn’t blink. You’ve had sparks with guests before, but this… this isn’t a spark. It’s a slow burn, one you feel blooming low in your chest, rising like tidewater. Dangerous. Delicious. And entirely unprofessional. But you’re past the point of pretending you don’t enjoy it.

“So,” you say into the mic, voice steadied by muscle memory more than calm, “we’ve talked childhood. We’ve talked college. Let’s talk now. Dallas. Big city. New team. WNBA life. What’s that been like for you so far?”

Paige shifts in her seat. She’s a little more relaxed now—arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of her water bottle. She smiles, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s... a lot,” she admits, almost laughing at herself. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s fast. Like, faster than I expected. Not just the game—though the speed of the league is insane—but everything. Schedules. Flights. Practices. Media. I feel like I live out of a suitcase now.”

You lean forward a little, eyes on her. “No more dorm room comfort zones.”

“Exactly. I miss knowing where everything is. My spots. The routine. But this—this is pushing me. It’s making me grow. I like that.”

“Tell me about the team,” you say, pen loosely tucked behind your ear, even though you’re not using it anymore. “Because that’s not just any locker room. You’ve got Arike. You’ve got DiJonai. That’s some serious personality to walk into.”

She laughs, head tilting back for a second. “It’s wild. In the best way. Arike’s got this energy that’s just... loud in the most joyful, chaotic way. She’ll walk into practice already roasting everyone. And DiJonai is the most stylish person I’ve ever met. She’ll show up in a full fit at 8 a.m. like it’s fashion week.”

You grin. “Do you feel like the rookie?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling again. “They keep me humble. Arike made me carry her bag once just because I beat her at a shooting drill.”

“That’s hazing.”

“She called it character building.”

“Same thing.”

“She’s lucky I like her.”

“You like them both?”

“I do,” she says, with warmth that feels earned. “It’s different from college. You don’t have that built-in family right away. You’ve gotta prove yourself. Earn their trust. But they’ve been really supportive. Even when I mess up. Especially when I mess up.”

“Do you mess up a lot?”

She shrugs. “I think everyone does. But I try to learn fast.”

“And leadership?” you ask. “You were the leader at UConn. Now you’re the rookie again. How’s that shift been?”

She hesitates—just enough for you to catch it.

“It’s humbling,” she says after a beat. “At UConn, people looked to me. Now I’m learning to speak less, listen more. It’s weird, finding your voice again. In a new system. A new city.”

You nod. “For what it’s worth? You’re doing a good job here.”

Her eyes flick to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got presence. And you don’t dodge the real stuff.”

A pause. Not long, but full. Charged.

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all week,” she says, voice low.

“Maybe I’ll try to beat it before we’re done.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” she says, echoing the phrase from earlier, lips twitching at the edges.

The air between you pulls tighter, warmer. You push forward before it swallows you whole.

“All right,” you say, clearing your throat like that’ll clear the heat in your chest. “Walk me through a day in the life of Paige Bueckers. Not game day. Just... a random off-day in Dallas.”

She exhales like it’s a relief to shift gears.

“I wake up late,” she admits, eyes flicking to yours like she’s confessing a crime. “I’m not a morning person unless I have to be. So maybe 9:30, 10?”

“A rebel,” you murmur.

She smiles. “I stretch. Journal sometimes. Depends on the mood. Then maybe a walk. I like walking. Especially in new places.”

“City walks? Nature? What’s the vibe?”

“City. I like the noise. Headphones in. No destination.”

You hum. “You people watch?”

“Always.”

“And the music?”

She smirks. “What do you think I listen to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the pivot. “Oh, we’re flipping the interview now?”

“Just curious,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye. “What does your gut tell you?”

You lean back, arms crossed, mock-thinking.

“You strike me as an R&B girl,” you say. “Smooth, layered, a little introverted. You’ve definitely got some SZA in rotation. Maybe Summer Walker. Some old Alicia Keys when you’re feeling dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“But,” you continue, slowly, “I also think you secretly listen to sad Taylor Swift songs on planes.”

That does it. She laughs so hard she folds in on herself, hand over her mouth.

“I—how did you—”

“I knew it,” you say, victorious. “You’re a ‘Clean’ or ‘The Archer’ type, huh?”

She’s still laughing. “You don’t miss.”

“You are the archer,” you tease. “Careful aim. Hidden feelings. Lowkey brooding.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re exposing me.”

“You exposed yourself, Bueckers.”

She grins. “You’ve been studying me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just doing my homework.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats again, softer this time.

You catch her gaze, and there it is—something wordless passing between you. Not scripted. Not planned. Just real.

Em’s voice crackles in your ear piece again, distant but amused, “Tell them to get a room.”

You cough. “Sorry, my producer says we’re flirting too hard.”

“Is she wrong?” Paige asks, still smiling.

“Isn’t that for the audience to decide?”

You both laugh. But it’s different now—layered. Knowing. You glance back down at your outline and realize, again, that you haven’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Any hobbies?” you ask, lighter now. “Other than walking with your headphones in and contemplating your entire emotional landscape through sad pop lyrics?”

She groans. “Stop.”

You grin. “Never.”

“I read,” she offers, regaining composure. “Mostly sports bios, but sometimes fiction. Stuff that lets me disappear a little.”

“And when you want to reappear?”

She looks at you, half-tilted smile, eyes softer. “I guess… I come back to things like this. Conversations. People who see me.”

You weren’t ready for that one. You blink, breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you say, voice suddenly a little unsteady, “hi.”

She mirrors your tone. “Hi.”

And for the third time in less than an hour, you forget entirely that there are cameras on.

You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“All right,” you say, tone shifting into something more playful, “you’ve survived the deep dive. You’ve given us poetry, heartbreak, growth arcs. But now it’s time for the real journalism.”

Paige raises a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no.”

“Rapid fire round,” you announce, adjusting your mic dramatically. “No overthinking. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. You ready?”

She nods slowly, suspicious but smiling. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Favorite cheat meal.”

“Chick-fil-A. Spicy deluxe.”

You fake a gasp. “Problematic and spicy. Bold choice.”

She snorts. “Gotta be honest.”

“Pre-game ritual?”

“Getting lost in the music. Right sock on before the left.”

“Superstitious or just vibing?”

“Superstitious. Like, irrationally.”

You make a note. “We’ll revisit that in therapy.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Biggest pet peeve?”

“People chewing with their mouths open.”

“That’s fair. What are you bad at?”

There’s a pause, a beat longer than expected. She licks her lips, almost shy.

“Texting back,” she admits.

“Oh?” You lean forward, faux serious. “We’ve found the flaw.”

“Hey,” she says, defensive but laughing. “I read them! I just… don’t reply. Or I do, like, in my head. It’s a problem.”

“You know,” you muse, “that’s dangerous behavior for someone flirting on a podcast.”

She meets your gaze, eyes gleaming. “Who says I won’t reply to you?”

The silence after that is louder than anything you’ve recorded today.

You raise your brows, smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. “We’ll circle back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You break eye contact because if you don’t, you’ll fall face-first into it again. Instead, you shuffle your notes, breathe slowly, and shift the tone with practiced ease.

“So,” you say, quieter now, “can I tell you something?”

Paige blinks, surprised by the sudden turn, but nods. “Yeah.”

You rest your elbows on your knees, fingers laced loosely. The studio feels smaller now, intimate. Like the lights have dimmed without anyone touching a switch.

“I started this podcast in my college dorm,” you begin. “Borrowed mics. Blankets tacked on the walls for soundproofing. No sponsors. No following. Just… this need to make space for women’s sports. For athletes who were always doing the most and getting the least attention.”

Paige’s expression shifts—softer, listening in a different way.

“I was mad,” you continue. “That no one was talking about it. Mad that I had to dig through forums and niche blogs to find out when a W game was airing. Mad that girls were breaking records and getting two seconds of coverage between football updates.”

You glance at her, and she’s not smiling anymore. She’s just watching you, gaze warm and unwavering.

“So I built this,” you say. “One episode at a time. And now we’re here. You’re here. And it means a lot.”

She sits with that. Doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets it breathe.

Then she says, quiet and sincere, “Thank you.”

You look up. “For what?”

“For doing it,” she replies. “For caring. For showing up. For giving people like me space to be more than stats and soundbites.”

It hits you harder than you expect. You swallow, nod.

“Sometimes it feels like yelling into the void,” you admit.

“Well,” she says, voice steady, “I hear you.”

And God, the way she says it. Like it’s not just about this podcast. Like she sees more than you’re willing to show. Like she’s been listening to you, even before she stepped into the studio.

The moment lingers. Longer than it should. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You’re the first to shift, eyes flicking down to your notes. But your voice is soft when you ask the next question.

“All right. Last one. No pressure.”

She leans back a little, sensing the shift. “Hit me.”

“What’s something people always get wrong about you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Paige’s gaze drops to her hands, fingers twisting the cap of her water bottle again. She breathes in slowly, then out.

“That I’m always put together,” she says finally.

You don’t speak. You just let her keep going.

“I think people look at the highlights and the press and assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm. Collected. That I don’t break down. But I do. A lot. I get nervous. I overthink. I put so much pressure on myself it sometimes feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her voice doesn’t shake, but it thins a little at the edges.

“I smile through it, because that’s what people expect. But inside? I’m scared all the time. That I’m not enough. That I’ll mess up. That they’ll stop believing in me.”

You nod, slow. “That’s real.”

She exhales. “Yeah.”

You glance at her, and your tone gentles even more.

“Me too,” you say.

She turns toward you.

“I get nervous before every interview,” you admit. “Even now. Especially now.”

Her brows lift slightly. “With me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re… more than I expected.” That makes her smile again. Small. Honest. “You’re doing great,” you tell her.

“So are you,” she replies, and something shifts again in the air—like a curtain pulled back, or a room getting quieter when someone important walks in.

The lights haven’t changed. The mics are still on. But everything feels different. You don’t need to say anything else. You just sit in it. Together.

You’ve never wanted an interview to end less.

It’s not just that the episode’s been good—though, objectively, it’s been one of your best. The pacing, the banter, the rhythm. The intimacy that crept in somewhere around the midpoint and never left. It’s all been magnetic. Electric. Like your favorite kind of story, the one you fall into so deeply you forget you’re holding the book.

But time’s up. You feel it before Em signals it in your ear. Before the last question fades into a silence thick with things unsaid.

You tap the edge of the mic once and clear your throat, voice calm but low.

“Well… that’s gonna do it for today’s episode of She Scores.”

Paige’s eyes are still on you, softer than they were an hour ago.

You glance at her, smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.

“Paige Bueckers, thank you for coming through, for sharing your story, and for ruining all other guests for me from this point forward.”

She laughs under her breath. “High praise.”

“I mean it,” you say, more serious now. “This was special.”

She doesn’t speak right away. When she does, her voice is quiet.

“I had fun,” she says.

You nod once, throat tightening for some reason you don’t have time to name.

“I’m your host,” you say into the mic, still looking at her, “and if you need me, I’ll be rewatching this episode on mute just to study eye contact.”

She lets out a full laugh—quiet, disbelieving, charmed. You don’t break the stare.

“And as always,” you finish, voice slow and warm, “thanks for listening. We’ll see you next time.”

The red light clicks off.

The studio doesn’t move right away. It rarely does. Your crew’s used to your pacing, your cadence. They let the moment breathe. But eventually, lights dim to neutral, camera arms swing away, and a few muted voices pick up as people begin unplugging cables and shutting down feeds.

You lean back in your seat, drawing a slow breath.

She stretches her legs slightly, then looks over at you. “That went fast.”

You nod. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

She stands first. You do the same. Neither of you rushes.

Em walks past the set, holding a half-rolled cable over her shoulder. She catches your eye and smirks. You ignore her.

Paige lingers by the couch, hands in her pockets, looking around the studio like she wants to memorize it.

You don’t say anything. You just watch her watching everything.

After a beat, you walk over and gesture toward the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nods. “Cool.”

You step into the quiet hallway side by side. The air’s cooler here, and the low hum of fluorescent lights follows you down the corridor until you reach the side exit near the green room. You stop there, under a small overhead light. It's soft. Pale. Like a halo waiting to happen.

Paige turns slightly and leans back against the wall, her shoulder brushing the cool brick, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

You tilt your head, amused. “The podcast?”

She shrugs. “All of it. This space. The way you talk to people. It feels... safe.”

That takes the wind out of you a little. In the best way.

You take a small step closer.

“You made it easy,” you say, voice low.

She smiles again. Not wide. Just real. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then—without a word—she pulls out her phone and holds it toward you, screen lit up on the contact page.

“In case I need help prepping for interviews,” she says. You take the phone, eyebrows raised. “Or something like that,” she adds, teasing but quiet.

You type in your number, thumb hovering for a second before you hit save. You don’t add an emoji or anything extra. Just your name. Clean. Simple. But your heart’s not moving simple. It’s skipping. Tripping.

You hand the phone back and she looks at it for a second, nods once, then locks the screen and slips it back into her pocket.

“Well,” she says.

“Well,” you echo.

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Just unfinished.

You don’t hug. You don’t say too much. You don’t have to.

She opens the door and steps out into the early evening light. You watch her walk down the path toward the lot—hair catching gold from the sunset, one headphone already in.

She doesn’t look back.

But you stay there, standing in the doorway, your hands tucked into your pockets like maybe they’ll keep you from feeling too much.

A moment later, Em walks up behind you, pausing in the doorway.

She glances at Paige’s retreating figure. Then at you. “You are so down bad.”

You exhale. Slow. A smile cracks the corner of your mouth.

“I know.”

You don’t deny it. You just watch the door swing slowly shut, and try not to already miss her.

It’s just past 8:30 p.m. when a knock comes.

You’re on your couch, bare-faced, in sweats, hair tied up in a lopsided bun. The post-interview high has settled into a quiet hum in your chest, the kind that doesn’t want to fade but also can’t be sustained. You haven’t eaten yet. A half-empty glass of wine sits on the coffee table. The remote’s resting on your stomach. You were debating rewatching the episode clips Em already sent you—Paige’s soft laugh on loop, her eyes lingering on yours like there was more she wasn’t saying.

You haven’t even touched your phone. You’ve been too afraid to find out whether she texted or didn’t.

The knock happens again.

You freeze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not food delivery, not friends, not—

No.

No way.

You rise slowly, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears, and pad barefoot toward the door.

When you open it, you forget how to breathe.

Paige Bueckers is standing on your doorstep, backlit by the hallway’s overhead glow, a bunch of wildflowers in one hand and two overfilled grocery bags in the other. She’s wearing joggers and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair down, glasses slightly crooked, like she threw the whole look together in a rush.

You stare.

She blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo, dumbly.

She lifts the flowers a little. “So… I might’ve told Em I wanted to see you again and she might’ve given me your address.”

You narrow your eyes. “That little traitor.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘She’s down bad so don’t mess this up.’”

You groan into your hand.

“You’re not the only one,” Paige adds, laughing.

You step back and open the door wider. “Get in here before someone sees you and sells the story to DeuxMoi.”

She steps inside. You take the grocery bags from her hand, eyes scanning their contents—pasta, wine, garlic bread, salad mix, two pints of ice cream, and a suspiciously expensive-looking block of parmesan.

You blink. “This is… a lot of food.”

“I panicked,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I was going to ask you out for dinner tomorrow, but then I realized I didn’t want to wait.”

You look up at her.

She shrugs. “Is that weird?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s—God, it’s not weird. It’s really not weird.”

“Good.” She shifts the flowers in her arms. “Because I was kind of already halfway here when I realized I didn’t actually ask.”

You reach for the flowers. “Consider me asked. And saying yes.” You pause. “Like… yes, yes.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a little breathless.

You grin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both barefoot in your kitchen. She’s stirring the sauce while you try, and fail, to open the bottle of wine. Soft music plays from the speaker you usually reserve for sad Sunday cleaning sessions.

There’s flour on your cheek, red sauce on her hoodie sleeve, and an entire salad still untouched in a bowl because the two of you got distracted talking about pre-game pump up songs and you accidentally brought up her Rookie of the Month highlight reel with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I knew you watched that ten times,” she teases, hip bumping you lightly.

“I was doing research.”

“For what? Your dreams?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She sets the spoon down and turns to you, leaning her hip into the counter. “This is nice.”

You nod, heart thudding against your ribs. “It is.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not uncomfortable—just full again. The kind of silence where things settle without losing spark.

Then she tilts her head.

“I didn’t want the night to end,” she says, voice lower now. “After the podcast. I kept thinking about everything I didn’t say.”

“Like what?” you ask, careful not to move too fast.

She meets your gaze. “Like how I didn’t want it to be just one interview. Or one conversation. Or one night.”

Your breath catches.

She steps a little closer, the space between you narrowing to something charged.

“I know we’re both busy,” she murmurs. “Schedules. Travel. Different States. Media stuff. But I wanted you to know that I meant it—when I said you made me feel safe. Like I could be myself.”

You swallow. “You were yourself.”

“Because of you,” she says, no hesitation.

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of her, the steadiness in her voice. Her hand brushes yours on the countertop.

“So,” she says softly, “if this is just dinner, that’s okay. But if it’s something more—if it could be more—I’d like that.”

You don’t speak. You just lean in and press your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut, everything inside you humming.

“I’d like that too,” you whisper.

Her fingers graze yours, then hold.

Outside, the city keeps moving—cars passing, lights blinking, lives rushing past. But in your kitchen, time slows down. The sauce simmers. The wine breathes. And for the first time in a long time, so do you.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers uconn #paige buckets #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #dallas wings #wnba x reader #wnba #wnba players #wlw #lesbian #wuh luh wuh

501 notes · View notes

em1i2a3 · 10 hours ago

Text

My Favourite Game

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Inexperienced!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You haven’t had much luck when it comes to dating and sex which has inadvertently placed you in a position of being wholly inexperienced with the whole scene in general. But when your long time friend Rhett Abbott offers you a way to experiment safely to figure out what to do, you immediately jump at the opportunity–desperate to learn and get more experience.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers? Hell yeah! Reader is inexperienced and actually has a safe space to actually experiment. The dynamics between Rhett and Reader are extremely comfortable (they talk about a lot of personal things), They’ve been friends for a while (high school acquaintances turned adult friends), Mentions of Violence (kind of vague as well), Rhett is Mentioned to be Protective

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all…), Oral Sex (fem! And male! Receiving), Fingering, Biting (leaving marks), Dirty Talk, Hickeys and Love Bites, Cum Play, Swallowing, Hair Pulling, Choking, Overstimulation, Semi–Public Sex (Truck Sex y’all wahoooo lol), Handjobs, Riding, Making Out, Thigh Riding, Praising/WorshippingTeasing (physically), Begging, Reader is described as being inexperienced they have had sex though, just really bad sex, Very Soft Dom and Sub dynamics that switches, Finger Sucking, Gagging (very brief moment, nothing extreme), Good Girl is used.

Author’s Note: Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of smut warnings lol. I loved writing this, I buy into the friends to lovers trope so much, but I also enjoy the ‘I’m teaching you new things about yourself and we’re slowly falling for each other’ trope lol. Did I go off on this and have to change my keyboard midway through because the A, D, F and G keys break? Yep. But holy hell did I enjoy writing this new segment of RAF and I’m so excited to keep writing for this man!

Word Count: 13,962

It was painfully evident that you didn’t have much luck with men. You used to think maybe the first one was just a fluke–that one high school boyfriend who didn’t know the first thing about tenderness and treated you like a friend more than a lover. But as the years went on and the faces changed–first dates, flings, those awkward two-month situationships that ended with unread messages or cold shoulders–it became harder and harder to ignore a simple, infuriating truth:

You attracted a certain type of guy, and unfortunately, that type of guy brought on heaps of trouble to you.

Rhett had told you as much–in different ways, tones, and situations.

”I can tell just by lookin’ at ‘em,” He’d mutter over his beer, eyes narrowed at whoever was looking at you, or whoever had come to pick you up from his ranch when you would hang out, “Ain’t no way that one’s gonna treat you right.” But you never listened to him. You had told him–and yourself–multiple times that he was just being overprotective, and looking too deeply into things.

But the truth was, he was right, you weren’t being treated right. Not even close.

In bed, it was glaringly worse. You didn’t come first–literally or metaphorically. The guys you saw acted like just showing up was enough, like their presence alone should’ve sent you spiraling into pure ecstasy–like you were supposed to be grateful that they were blessing you with the experience of having them between your legs.

You definitely weren’t. Not even once.

You could actually count on one hand how many times you’d almost felt an orgasm building. And the only time someone even offered to go down on you–and even then, he was half-assing the job, and made it feel like a formality rather than something he actually wanted to do. You barely felt his mouth. But you pretended it was good, just so it wouldn’t be another disappointment.

For a long time, you thought maybe something was wrong with you, that maybe your body was broken or maybe you were just one of those people who didn’t get much pleasure from these types of things and needed simpler acts to truly experience something even close to sexual pleasure. So. You stopped trying, stopped dating, and stopped chasing what felt more like punishment than passion.

And within the quiet that followed your dating celibacy, you had found yourself spending more time with Rhett.

Neither of you were truly close with each other before that.

Sure, you’d gone to the same high school, crossed paths in hallways, shared the occasional class where you’d borrow a pencil or flash him a smirk when he got caught nodding off mid-lecture. But he ran with the rodeo kids, and you–well, you drifted between circles, kept mostly to yourself, caught up in extracurriculars and jobs and the kind of boys Rhett always ended up warning you about years later.

It wasn’t until a spur-of-the-moment decision–one boring Friday and a reckless text to your old classmate–that you ended up at one of his circuits. You hadn’t seen him ride since high school, and you figured, why not?

You didn’t expect much.

But then you saw him in the dirt and the dust, bronzed under the stadium lights, laughing with his hat tipped back and his knuckles split open. And something shifted.

You stayed longer than you meant to that night. Helped him limp back to his truck. Got late-night fries together. Talked about everything and nothing, just like people who didn’t know yet that they were about to become each other’s person.

After that, it became a routine. A quiet, natural rhythm. The two of you set aside one day a week for bar hopping–usually Tuesdays, when the crowds were thin and the drinks were cheap. But when you gave up on dating for a while, something in that rhythm expanded.

You weren’t just hanging out once a week anymore. You were showing up at circuits again, slapping the rusted fence rails as he rode past, grinning like you were seventeen again and seeing him for the first time. You started meeting his friends. Familiarized yourself with his family again–Amy’s quiet greetings, Perry’s tired but kind nods, Cecilia’s slightly surprised but not unwelcome smiles when you appeared in their kitchen one Sunday morning, still rubbing sleep from your eyes in Rhett’s oversized hoodie, and Royal’s glares that he shot at Rhett.

You became a fixture in his life. A known presence.

Especially after long nights of drinking, where you’d inevitably end up back at his place, curled up on his bed groaning because a headache was already brewing.

And with that bond that grew came something that bloomed slowly but powerfully: his protectiveness.

It had always been there–coiled beneath the surface, stitched into the way he watched you, waited for you, walked you to your door even when he was half-asleep himself. But when he started to piece together the kind of experiences you’d had–the disappointments, the lack of care, the way men made you feel like an afterthought–it shifted.

It changed the way he looked at you. Like you were fragile, but not weak. Like he wanted to wrap his hands around every bad memory and crush it.

He never said much when you opened up about it. Didn’t need to. The silence was heavy enough.

”You don’t deserve that,” He said once, soft as gravel, not looking at you. It had hit you harder than you expected. Not because of the words–but because of how he said them.

When you broke it to him that you were taking a break from dating, he didn’t even hesitate before saying “Me too.” You hadn’t expected that. You had laughed, asked him why– saying you’re Rhett Abbott, don’t you have girls throwing themselves at you every other week?–but he just shrugged, scratched the back of his neck, and muttered something about solidarity.

What you didn’t know though was that Rhett Abbott was relieved by this news.

It meant peace. No more stepping in between you and men who didn’t deserve to speak your name. No more black eyes or busted knuckles or security dragging him out of bars with the same tired “Abbott, we warned you.” No more cold rage coiled in his chest when you came to him with a new dating story.

But more than all of that–it meant he had more of your time again, and that you were his once more.

Not in the traditional sense. But in the quiet, easy way where he got to have you beside him. In his truck. At his kitchen table. Laughing on his porch. Falling asleep in his living room. Talking to him about things you didn’t tell anyone else.

He got to watch you laugh with his family. Got to listen to you hum in the passenger seat. Got to see you when you weren’t trying anymore–when you were just being you.

And lately, Rhett had been thinking about things. Dangerous things.

About what it would feel like to be the one to show you what good could be. About how his hands would never treat you like an obligation. About how he’d never rush you, never expect anything, never make you fake a damn thing.

He’d been thinking about you in ways he shouldn’t. Imagining things he wasn’t proud of. But he never said it. Never crossed that line.

Not until you did.

——————————

The bar was louder than usual, the kind of noise that sank into your bones, all thudding boots and clinking glasses and low country twang pouring from speakers that surrounded the walls of the drinking areas. You and Rhett were squished together in a booth that barely had enough space for one of his thighs, let alone two. He was pressed against your side, the warmth of his arm brushing yours every time either of you reached for the second pitcher of beer you’d ordered.

You’d been sipping slowly at first–well, pretending to–but somewhere between your third and fourth shared laugh, the drinks started going down faster. Something about being shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhett always loosened you up. Maybe it was the way he leaned in when he talked. Or the way his voice dropped just slightly in the middle of a crowd, like everything else was just noise unless you were listening.

By the time the second pitcher was empty, your head was spinning, your cheeks hot, and Rhett was nudging you with his knee.

“Guessin’ it’s time we call Perry?”He suggested, raising an eyebrow and pushing his light brown hair out of his face. You groaned.

”Can’t we just sleep in your truck?” And he let out a small laugh, shaking his head slowly.

”You’re too pretty to get eaten by coyotes, sweetheart. C’mon, I’m sure my place is more comfy than the leather seats of the truck.” He teased, as he pulled out his phone.

You both slurred your way through the call–Rhett taking the lead while you giggled beside him, repeating his name like a chant until Perry muttered, “Jesus Christ, I’m on my way.”

The drive back to the ranch was a blur. You’d nodded off on Rhett’s shoulder. He smelled like leather and dust and whatever cologne he always swiped across his throat before circuits. He didn’t say much on the way home, but his hand never left your thigh–more because in his drunken stupor, all he wanted to do was feel your skin against his, even if it was seen as an accident.

When Perry’s truck pulled up to the house, it was as if your bodies had already memorized the path inside.

You and Rhett stumbled up the steps, bumping into one another in the narrow hallway, muffling your laughter behind lazy hands and hushed voices. His hand settled low on your back, fingertips resting just under the hem of your top, warm and heavy with quiet intention–though he played it off like it was nothing. Like he always did.

His legs bumped into the frame of the hallway table and he cursed softly, grabbing onto your arm to steady himself.

“Shh,” You whispered, glancing behind you, “You’re gonna wake your parents.” He waved his hand.

”It’s okay,” He murmured, his breath brushing your hair slightly, “I’m sure they’re used to it by now.” You reached his room like it was second nature–your bodies moving together in a practiced rhythm, like you’d done this dance before. And you had, in bits and pieces. Just not like this. Not with this kind of tension buzzing just beneath your skin.

You practically fell through the doorway first, catching yourself on the edge of his bed with a half-giggled groan. Rhett followed close behind, his shoulder knocking lightly into the doorframe before he caught himself and dragged it shut behind him with a soft click.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the pale moonlight bleeding in through the slatted blinds. Familiar shadows painted across the floorboards and the messy sprawl of his clothes on the chair. The scent of him clung to the room–warm skin, worn flannel, the faint tang of sawdust and leather.

You kicked off your boots, one thudding softly against the wall, the other tumbling onto its side. He mirrored your movements, stepping out of his own boots with less precision, letting out a groan of relief as he did so. You tossed your clutch onto the side table–just beside the lamp he never used–and sank onto the edge of his bed with a quiet sigh.

“Here,” Rhett said, reaching for the top drawer of his dresser, “Take these.” He tossed a soft, well-worn T-shirt your way–gray with faded black lettering you didn’t bother reading–and a pair of boxer shorts that still held the shape of his body in their fabric. You caught them against your chest, fingers curling over the cotton, the residual warmth of his drawer somehow sinking into your skin.

”I’m gonna go grab some water,” He added, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice low, but clearer now–more focused, or sobered up, “You get changed.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, the sound of his footsteps padding softly away as the door swung gently shut behind him.

You sat in the quiet for a moment, the distant hum of the house settling around you. Your pulse felt louder than it should’ve. Your fingers trembled slightly as you peeled off your tank top, the material catching on your shoulder before slipping free. You dropped it beside your clutch, then shimmied out of your jean shorts–tight and damp from the heat of the night, catching slightly on your thighs before falling to the floor.

The air kissed your bare skin, cool in contrast to the heat that had begun to build in your chest.

You tugged Rhett’s shirt over your head. It was too big, the hem falling just below your hips, the neckline gaping enough that the slope of your collarbone peeked out. You ran your fingers down the faded cotton, breathing in the faint scent of him lingering in the fabric–clean, woodsy, unmistakably him.

The boxers came next, soft and worn from a thousand washes. You slid them up your legs, the waistband resting low on your hips, baggy and comfortable in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once. You folded your other clothes neatly into a pile beside the bed, then sat back on the mattress just as the door creaked open again.

Rhett stepped in with two glasses of water, his knuckles curled tightly around the rims to keep them steady.

He paused when he saw you.

There was nothing particularly sexy about it, nothing overt or posed. Just you sitting on the edge of his bed in his boxers and his old shirt, legs bare, hair a little messy, your lips parted slightly as you took in a few deep breaths from the buzzing that tingled over your skin, and the shift in energy that floated through the room.

But something in his expression changed. His jaw flexed, and his eyes softened–the tension in his brow melting away the more he looked at you.

”Got you some water,” His voice was quieter now, more rough. You reached for one of the glasses, your fingers brushing his as you took it, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

”Thanks.” You took a sip of the water, the coolness of it sliding down your throat and settling somewhere just above your ribs. You sighed through the swallow, then leaned back slightly on one hand, blinking slowly at the ceiling as your head gave the first warning pulses of what would no doubt be a brutal morning.

“Jesus,” You muttered, placing the glass on the floor beside the bed, “I can tell I’m gonna have such a bad hangover in the morning…My head is already pounding.” Rhett hummed in agreement, moving toward his dresser again.

”Wouldn’t doubt it,” He mumbled, “I feel it too.” You watched him open the top drawer, his back partially turned to you. He didn’t say anything else–just reached in for another t-shirt. Then, without warning or hesitation, he grabbed the collar of the one he was wearing and tugged it off in one smooth motion.

And just like that, your breath caught.

You’d seen Rhett shirtless before. Once, maybe twice–at the lake, when his whole family had piled into trucks and driven down with coolers and towels and floating chairs. But those times had been quick, and you’d always looked away out of caution. Too many watchful eyes, too much risk of your gaze being caught. Too much danger in what you might feel if you stared too long.

But now?

Now there was no one watching.

No one except him.

And he wasn’t looking at you.

He stood a few feet from the bed, half in shadow, and your eyes swept over the length of his bare back, over the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the slight arch of his spine as he leaned forward into the drawer. You barely breathed.

His skin was pale where the sun hadn’t kissed it, but scattered across his chest and along his ribs were bruises–real ones. Deep and blooming like brushstrokes of ink and wine. Purple that melted into faded yellow. Green along the edges. Some were new, still fresh and angry. Others had already begun to fade, ghosting into the gentle gold of healing. They streaked across his ribs in uneven patterns, coiling beneath the planes of lean muscle, dipping into the shadows of his collarbones and clinging to his hips like the remnants of a war.

It was violent. And somehow, beautiful.

Because it was him.

It was the proof of everything he did, everything he gave. The risk. The pain. The stubborn pride that kept him getting back on the bull even after it had thrown him into the dirt. You’d heard the groans he swallowed, watched him limp back to the chute with blood on his jeans and dirt on his teeth, but you hadn’t seen this. Not up close.

Not in the quiet.

Your eyes traced the line of one particularly stark bruise that stretched from the edge of his left pectoral down to his ribs. The skin there was darker, tight. Raw. And still, your gaze followed it like your fingers wanted to.

And God the urge to touch him was burning through you.

You wanted to trace every edge, every mark, every scrape and wound. You wanted to know if his skin was as warm as it looked. If his chest would rise faster beneath your palm. If he’d shiver when you pressed your lips to that bruise just below his ribs.

Your thighs pressed together slightly, feeling your stomach tighten as you began to flush under the confines of your own thoughts.

Rhett tugged the fresh shirt over his head and ran a hand through his light brown hair, slicking it back out of his face before finally turning back to you. His eyes flicked up–just for a second–and he caught your transfixed gaze.

“You okay?” He asked softly, voice thick. You cleared your throat, heat climbing up your neck as you dropped your gaze for a moment, pretending you hadn’t just been caught practically devouring him with your eyes.

“Yeah…Totally fine,” You muttered, fingers fumbling for the glass on the floor, bringing it back up to your lips. You took a long sip–longer than necessary–as if the coolness of it might extinguish the warmth that was flooding your chest. Or the way your thighs were still shifting together beneath his boxer shorts like they had a mind of their own.

Rhett didn’t move, and didn’t say anything for a second, his blue irises scanning over you for a moment, seeing the little movement that your thighs were making, a little tell that he had seen before from other women. He licked his lips slowly, like he could still taste your gaze on him. His voice dropped just a little as he said it–casual on the surface, but thick beneath. Heavy with the kind of tension that had been building between the two of you for months.

“You were starin’.” Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked down instinctively, the corner of your lip twitching with something between embarrassment and defense. Still, you shrugged like you could play it off.

“Well…It’s kind of hard not to when you’re all bruised up from the bull,” You murmured, trying to keep your tone light. “Didn’t know they were that bad.” He hummed at that–low and dry, like he didn’t quite believe your answer.

“You’ve seen ’em before,” He said, voice gravel-thick, head tipping slightly. “Shouldn’t be a surprise to you at this point.” You lifted your glass again to stall, sipped slower this time, letting the water cool the heat that was quickly rushing to your cheeks. Then you glanced at him again and gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is, Rhett. I think the beer is getting to you.” That made something shift behind his eyes. He tilted his head a fraction, just enough to cast a slanted shadow along his cheekbone.

“Really now?” He murmured as he stepped closer, the floor creaking faintly beneath his weight. “You’re gonna tell me that I’m not seein’ straight?” He asked, pointing at himself. You nodded, your laugh shaky but still defiant.

”That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rhett.” He didn’t reply right away. He just stared down at you, long and quiet. Then, wordlessly, he stepped the rest of the way to the bed and placed his fist down–slowly, deliberately–on the mattress beside your thigh.

He didn’t touch you.

But the air between you shifted.

His knuckles were close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his arm. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes followed the shape of his forearm, the way the muscles tensed beneath the skin, until they traced up to meet his face again.

You tilted your head up to look at him, and he was already there–already watching you.

His gaze locked with yours, blue eyes shadowed and steady, but flickering with something sharp, something knowing. Your stare skimmed over the details of his face–so close now, you could count the flecks of gold in his irises. The stubble along his jaw. The faint creases near the corners of his eyes that deepened when he laughed. The way his bottom lip jutted out just a little more than the top one, wet from where he’d just licked it.

“You’re a little liar,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slow, crooked smirk. “I can see it in your eyes.”

The words hit low in your stomach.

You wanted to deny it–wanted to scoff, roll your eyes, tell him he was being ridiculous–but all you could do was hold his gaze and feel the heat crawling higher in your cheeks.

Still, you stayed composed. Barely.

“I think you need to sleep off your drunken stupor, Rhett,” You commented, chin tilting upward in subtle challenge. “You’ve got beer goggles on, and you really are seeing things now.”

He didn’t back off.

Instead, he leaned in closer. Slowly. Deliberately.

His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of beer and mint as it fanned over your lips. Your lashes fluttered, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t move. Not even when your breath caught slightly in your throat.

You just kept your eyes on him.

“…Guess I really do need some sleep,” He murmured after a beat, his voice quieter now. Rougher. But when he pulled back, he was grinning.

Cocky.

Like he knew you weren’t as unaffected as you were pretending to be.

Then he straightened, turned slightly toward the dresser again, and asked casually, “You stayin’ in the bed with me? Or you movin’ to the spare room?”

Your lashes fluttered quickly, and you swallowed hard before clearing your throat.

“I’ll stay here,” You said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your entire body was still tense from how close he’d just been. “Probably won’t make it to the spare if I get up.” He nodded once, like that was the answer he expected, then reached for his belt buckle

“Alright,” He replied. You quickly looked away as his fingers moved to undo his belt, the subtle clink of the buckle sending another unwanted jolt of heat through your chest. Before your mind could wander any further–before you could accidentally lock eyes with the line of his hips or the way his thumb hooked into the waistband of his jeans–you padded toward the head of the bed.

You placed your water glass beside your clutch on the nightstand with a soft clink, keeping your movements slow, and controlled. Like that would help rein in the sudden buzz running beneath your skin.

The sheets were cool as you slipped under them, the scent of his laundry soap mingling with the lingering smell of him on the pillow. You shimmied slightly to get comfortable, dragging the duvet up to your waist and tucking one arm beneath your head, the other laid loosely across your stomach. You stared up at the ceiling.

Behind you, the sounds of him undressing were harder to ignore than you’d hoped.

A soft rustle of denim. The unmistakable swish of fabric sliding down over skin. A low breath–just a little ragged, like maybe even he was feeling the same pressure you were. You swallowed.

Then the mattress shifted.

He moved carefully, like he didn’t want to jostle you, but you felt him all the same. The bed dipped slightly with his weight, and the warmth of his body immediately spread beneath the covers, replacing the cold air you’d just tucked yourself into.

He settled on his side–close, but not touching. Or at least, not exactly. His arm stayed to himself, his shoulders turned slightly away, but your legs…Your legs brushed.

Bare skin to bare skin. Just barely.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Not anymore. It was full of tension, sure–but there was something else in it too. Something gentle. Something known.

“G’night,” He murmured, voice low and sleepy, already starting to sink into the mattress.

You turned your head a little, just enough to look at the back of his shoulder, then whispered, “Night.”

Your eyes lingered there for a moment. On the curve of his neck, and the slow rise and fall of his breath.

And maybe you were imagining it–but his leg seemed to press a little firmer into yours.

A quiet, tentative contact.

And neither of you pulled away.

——————————

You woke up to your alarm going off like a goddamn air raid siren, the high-pitched chime echoing through the quiet room like it had been waiting to give you a heart attack.

Your eyes shot open.

A groan ripped from your throat as you reached blindly for your clutch, limbs still tangled in the sheets and your brain pulsing with a headache that had already staked its claim behind your eyes. The light from the phone screen stung, but you silenced the alarm with a few taps, your movements sluggish and mechanical.

From behind you, Rhett let out a muffled groan of his own.

“Who the hell sets an alarm on a Saturday?” He mumbled, voice gravelled and sleep-heavy.

You ignored the ache in your skull long enough to fish out the familiar blister pack from the depths of your clutch, thumb already popping the next pill loose. You brought it to your lips and dropped it onto your tongue, reaching lazily for the lukewarm water glass on the nightstand.

“It wasn’t to wake us up,” You muttered, taking a small sip and swallowing. “It’s my birth control reminder.” The bed shifted behind you. A soft rustle. A new weight.

“Birth control?” Rhett’s voice had sobered slightly, still low, but laced with something else now. Confusion, maybe.

You placed the glass back on the table and rolled onto your side, glancing over your shoulder–and promptly noted two things: one, he’d taken his shirt off during the night, and two, he was looking right at you.

His eyes were a little narrowed. Brow furrowed. His hair was a mess, and his voice hoarse.

“Yeah…Birth control,” You replied slowly, letting the words hang in the air as you watched his expression closely. “You know…The thing that women take to help their periods and prevent pregnancy?” He rolled his eyes, though the motion lacked bite.

You raised a brow. “So what’s with the third-degree, Abbott?”

He shrugged lazily and turned onto his back, his arm behind his head, jaw tight. “Didn’t think you were on it, that’s all. Never seen you take it before.”

You smirked. “Well, I’m usually out of your house by this time. Or I’m in the bathroom and take it there.”

And that was all it took.

That one sentence cracked something open in his chest and sent his thoughts freefalling.

You were on birth control.

The implications settled into him like wildfire. No condom. No consequences. Just skin to skin, you wrapped around him, begging, whispering–he could come inside you and not think twice, could bury himself so deep you’d feel it for hours. He could grab your hips and pull you down hard against him, his hands splayed over your stomach as he fucked you slow and steady until you were begging him to finish. No pulling out. No holding back. No guilt.

He wanted to kiss your thighs open, drag his tongue along your folds, taste every part of you while you whimpered into his pillow. He wanted to hear your breath hitch when he whispered let me do it right this time, to watch your expression when he sank in–slow and thick and deep–and told you how tight you were, how good you felt, how he’d dreamt of this.

He wanted to mark you up. Leave bruises on your neck, your hips, your thighs. Paint you with proof that someone finally gave a damn.

He’d be quiet about it, though. You’d both have to be quiet.

His parents were probably still in their room. Hell, Perry might be awake. So you’d press your mouth to his shoulder, muffle your moans against his skin, and Rhett would whisper filth in your ear with every lazy roll of his hips, voice ragged and barely restrained, telling you not to stop squeezing him like that. Not unless you wanted him to come right then and there.

His cock twitched against his thigh–sudden and sharp under the weight of his boxers.

Shit.

He shifted slightly under the blanket, adjusting himself, trying not to groan at how sensitive he suddenly felt. But the mattress wasn’t forgiving, and the movement wasn’t subtle.

“You alright?” Your voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. Curious. Careful. “You’re all red.”

He cleared his throat. A little too quickly.

“Mhm. I’m okay.”

You turned toward him more fully, propping yourself up slightly on one elbow, your hair flattened on one side from where you had slept on it. Your eyes narrowed, playful. Familiar.

And then–your voice softened to a whisper, full of teasing promise. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were staring at me.”

He blinked.

You were close. Too close. Your face inches from his, lips parted slightly, breath warm against his cheek. It mirrored what he’d done to you last night, except now the tables were turned–and he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

“I’m not,” He said quickly, voice cracking.

But you didn’t back off.

You just tilted your head slightly, and then–without meaning to–your thigh brushed his, and you felt something.

You stilled.

Your breath caught.

And your eyes went wide.

“…Oh,” You breathed, heat crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” You whispered a second later, but your voice was breathy and full of implication.

Rhett swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at the ceiling. “It’s alright,” He said, quietly. Voice a little higher now. Tight.

The tension between you thickened like syrup, slow and sticky and impossible to ignore.

Neither of you looked at each other at first. It was safer that way. Eyes stayed on the ceiling, the far wall, anywhere but the quiet place in the middle of the bed where everything had shifted. Where your thighs had brushed, where your breath had caught, where Rhett was still hard and trying to will himself down with a silent prayer and clenched jaw.

But then you shifted again.

Not a lot. Just enough that the blankets rustled and your voice came out–low, almost shy.

“Do…Do you want some help with that?”

His eyes snapped to you like a whip. His entire body went rigid.

“W-What?” The word cracked in the middle, like it hit the back of his throat too fast to smooth out. His brows pinched together, mouth parted, lips dry as hell.

You sighed–soft and nervous–and pushed yourself up a little more, bracing your weight on your elbow so you could look him in the eye.

“I said,” You repeated, quieter now, more deliberate, “Do you want some help with that?” Rhett sat up a little too–mirroring you without realizing it, like his body needed to be closer. His face hovered just inches from yours now, the tension rolling off him like heat off pavement.

“Are you bein’ serious?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded slowly, searching his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His gaze darted away for the briefest second, scanning the room like it might offer him a better answer than the one sitting right in front of him. But when he looked back, his expression was tight. Unreadable. Barely holding something back.

“Well, I mean…We’re friends…”

You raised your brows, your face still close, voice low but firm. “And we haven’t really been going out with other people. And sexual frustration is a thing, Rhett.”

He squinted slightly, more in thought than judgment. “You’re the one that said you wanted to take a hiatus from dating and stuff. I thought that meant physical things too.”

You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That was more meant for me because I really don’t feel much when…Y’know…Things are happening.”

Rhett stilled.

His lips parted just slightly, his breath hitching. Then his jaw flexed and he leaned in even closer, until the space between your mouths was damn near nonexistent.

“You what?” He asked, barely above a whisper. His voice sounded gutted–like it hurt him to even imagine it.

You swallowed thickly, heart rattling inside your chest. “I…I don’t feel much when I’m being intimate with someone.” There. It was out. A truth you rarely admitted out loud, even more rarely to a man.

Rhett’s jaw tensed. His throat bobbed. Something wild flickered in his eyes–something that looked a lot like heartbreak, but deeper. Protective. Personal.

“…How about I make you a deal,” He said suddenly, his voice husky and serious.

You tilted your head slightly, cautious. “What kind of deal?”

“Let me try somethin’,” He murmured, watching your expression with unshakable intensity. “And then you can do whatever you want to me after. Or nothin’ at all. You don’t owe me a thing.”

Your lips parted. “W-What do you want to do?” He reached up slowly–like he was afraid to spook you–and let his fingertips brush beneath your chin, giving you the softest touch he could with the calloused pads of his fingers.

”Lay back,” He whispered, “And I’ll show you.” You stared at him for one long, charged heartbeat–your skin prickling, your thighs already pressing closer, the ache in your core blooming slow and warm at the tone in his voice.

Your face burned as soon as the word left your lips.

“Okay.”

It was soft, nearly swallowed by the quiet tension in the room–but Rhett heard it. His eyes didn’t leave yours. Not for a second. His hand drifted from your chin to your shoulder, then eased you gently back onto the pillow. The mattress dipped beneath the shift of your weight, the sheets cool against your skin–but Rhett’s hand never stopped touching you. He moved with patience. With care.

And then he did something unexpected.

He slipped his arm under your neck–not in a way that caged you in, but cradled you. Like he wanted to hold your head up, protect it. His fingers curled gently into your hair, and his thumb brushed over your cheek. Slowly.

His voice came next, low and laced with something close to a smile.

“Remember that time…In high school, when we ended up kissing in Marley’s closet during seven minutes in heaven?”

Your stomach flipped violently, a swarm of butterflies bursting awake.

You narrowed your eyes. “You said you’d never bring that up.”

He chuckled, soft and rough. “It’s been long enough that I think I’m allowed to bring it up.” His thumb grazed your cheek again, and you swore it soothed something in you you hadn’t known was wound tight. “But anyways…Remember when you said you were nervous? Because you didn’t know what to do?”

You nodded slowly, your voice nearly a whisper. “Yeah…”

“And I told you to just breathe. Don’t even think about what was happenin’. Just breathe.” Your lips parted a little, your heart thudding louder.

“Yeah,” You whispered again.

His gaze held yours, warm and steady. “Well… Just do that again, alright? Just breathe. Think about something else. Got it?”

You hesitated. Swallowed.

“Rhett…Are you sure you want to do this? It’s going to be a waste of your time.” Your voice cracked near the end, thick with embarrassment and doubt you’d carried for too long.

His expression shifted. Not angry. Just…Struck.

He leaned down slowly, and before you could say anything else–before you could panic or second-guess–he kissed you.

It was soft. Just lips brushing lips. But it stunned you all the same.

You gasped faintly into the contact, breath hitching, body going still under the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours. He lingered for only a second before pulling back, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours again.

“I’m positive,” He murmured, voice low and resolute. “Now just relax, okay?” You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. You let your hands rest by your sides, fists curled lightly in the sheets as Rhett shifted closer, keeping his arm under your neck, still holding you, still touching your cheek.

His other hand drifted down. Slow.

He didn’t go for the obvious. Didn’t grab. Didn’t grope. Instead, his fingertips brushed along the hem of the shirt you wore–his shirt–lifting it just a few inches before slipping beneath. You shivered instantly, the cool air meeting your heated skin, and then–

His fingertips touched your stomach.

Barely there. Like the ghost of a thought.

They dragged gently across your skin, dipping just beneath your ribs, pausing, then continuing downward. Featherlight. Reverent. You sucked in a breath as goosebumps erupted along your arms and legs, your thighs pressing closer together as he traced the soft curve of your waist with maddening patience.

“Still alright?” He asked, his voice low, lips brushing your temple now. You nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

His hand moved again–back up first, over the flat of your stomach, the pads of his fingers gliding like silk. He circled your navel once, slow and hypnotic, then dropped lower again.

And lower.

Until he reached the waistband of the boxer shorts.

His fingertips paused there, resting lightly on the elastic band.

He kissed your temple. Then murmured against your skin: “Can you lift your hips for me?”

You did–slowly, your legs tensing slightly as you pushed up just enough. Your breath hitched as the cool air rushed between the fabric and your skin when Rhett tugged them down, slow and smooth, watching your face the entire time. Your body sank back down onto the mattress as he pulled the boxers down your thighs, past your knees, until they slipped off entirely.

Rhett paused for just a second, the boxer shorts now discarded somewhere at the foot of the bed, the room still and warm as his gaze settled on you—completely bare in the soft hush of the early morning light.

His eyes traveled up your legs, over the subtle dip of your hips, and down again to the place between your thighs–and the air left his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes still locked with his, every inch of you humming beneath the heat of his gaze. The sincerity in his tone–thick, reverent, gutted–made your breath catch.

Then, slowly, Rhett reached out. One of his hands cradled your knee, coaxing your leg outward, and he shifted down the bed as he gently murmured, “Spread your legs for me, Y/N.”

Your heart thudded. You hesitated—but only for a beat. Then, you nodded, slowly letting your legs fall open, nerves twisting in your stomach like warm thread as cool air hit you, followed almost immediately by the heat of his body slotting between your thighs.

His skin was warm against the inside of your legs—his shoulders wide and strong, his bare chest brushing the backs of your thighs as he settled in. You saw his eyes trail up your body again—slow, careful, like he was trying to memorize you. Then he looked up.

You’d closed your eyes.

Breathing slowly. Deeply.

Trying not to shake.

“Hey,” Rhett said softly, and you felt the mattress shift as he reached for you. His hand found yours where it lay clenched beside your hip. He interlaced his fingers with yours carefully and held on tight.

Your eyes fluttered open just as he leaned forward–and kissed the inside of your thigh.

A soft press. Then another. And another. Working slowly upward, like every inch of your skin deserved a proper hello. His breath was warm, his mouth even warmer, and every brush of his lips sent a new wave of heat coiling through your stomach.

By the time his mouth reached the top of your thigh, you were barely breathing.

Then–he tilted his head.

And he kissed you right against your core, and your whole body jerked.

Your hips twitched against the bed, your hand tightening in his, a quiet gasp slipping out of your mouth. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate line through your folds–like he was savoring you already. Like he was trying to learn what made you shake.

He kissed you again. Then again. Languid, like he wasn’t in any hurry. Like this wasn’t something to get over with–it was something to cherish.

His tongue moved with devastating patience, lapping and sucking gently, drawing shapes that made your thighs clench around his head. His hand gripped yours tighter.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the words barely audible. Your back arched slightly, and you felt Rhett moan into you—actually moan—like your pleasure was feeding his. The vibration of it sent another jolt of electricity straight through your spine.

Then—his mouth didn’t leave—but you felt his fingers press gently against your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Just teased. Traced. His tongue circled your clit once more—slow and wet—and then his finger slipped inside.

Your breath hitched, a sharp little gasp escaping you as your hips rocked upward without thinking.

Rhett stopped instantly, lifting his head slightly. His mouth was shining.

“You alright?” he asked gently, his voice low and rough and just a little breathless.

You looked down at him with wide, wild eyes and nodded quickly. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice cracking with need. “Oh my god, Rhett…yes.”

His mouth pulled into a crooked smile, his eyes still locked on yours. “Feel somethin’ now?” he murmured, teasing, affectionate.

You reached out and threaded your free hand through his hair–fisting it lightly at the crown, your hips rising up just slightly. “It’s witchcraft,” You whispered shakily, overwhelmed and already trembling.

Rhett laughed quietly, the sound sending shivers across your skin. “Nah,” He said, leaning in again, voice warm and sinful against your core. “It’s actually just me wantin’ to feel you come on my tongue, sweetheart.”

And then he dove back in.

This time, with more pressure. More hunger.

His tongue flattened against your clit, slow and firm. His finger curled inside you—and then he added another, stretching you just enough to make your breath come in shallow, frantic bursts. His pace increased, mouth and fingers working in tandem—sensual, focused, a little rough now.

Your thighs began to shake.

Your hips lifted and he pressed his arm across your waist to pin you gently down, grounding you while he devoured you like a man starved.

The noises he made—low, greedy groans—only made the tension build faster. Like your pleasure was his. Like getting you to break apart in his mouth was the only thing he cared about.

“Rhett,” You whimpered, barely able to breathe.

And then–he curled his fingers just right.

Your whole body seized. You let out a strangled moan, your mouth falling open against the pillow, your hand clutching his hair, the other tightening in his grip so hard you felt the tremor run down his arm.

Your orgasm hit like a freight train. Sudden, shaking, relentless. Your thighs clamped around his head and your hips bucked up into his mouth–and he didn’t stop. Not for a second.

He kept licking, groaning against you, working you through every last second until your legs twitched and your body slumped, utterly spent.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen, his chin slick. He looked completely wrecked–and proud of it.

His hand slipped out from between your legs, fingers soaked with your arousal as he licked them clean, before brushing his wet fingers against your trembling thigh. You were still panting, still half-blind with aftershocks. And he leaned over you again, eyes wild but soft.

”You alright, darlin’?” He asked, bringing his mouth to your cheek. You laughed–half a breath, half a sob–and nodded.

”Fuck, Rhett…Let me try and return the favour please…That was so fucking good.” He blinked down at you like he hadn’t expected it, like your voice alone could unravel him all over again. Then he let out a slow, ragged breath and leaned down, kissing you–soft, slow, indulgent. A thank you, a yes, a prayer.

“Okay,” He murmured against your lips, voice husky, “Yeah…okay.”

He eased onto his back beside you. The sheets shifted around you both as you rolled onto your side and slid your hand across his stomach, your fingertips brushing the light trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He watched you carefully, gaze gentle but burning. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said softly. “You already gave me enough just by lettin’ me–”

“I want to,” You cut in, voice quiet but certain. That stopped him. His jaw flexed slightly, his breath caught, and his hand reached up to cup the side of your face for just a second–his thumb brushing your cheek in a quiet, gentle pass. You kissed him again before shifting down the bed, your heart pounding as your thighs pressed together beneath the oversized shirt. You settled between his legs, your hands sliding up the tops of his thighs as he let out a low, shaky exhale. His skin was warm and soft beneath your palms, his muscles tense beneath the surface.

You hesitated just a little, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers.

Rhett’s hand came down gently, resting over yours. His voice was low, coaxing.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. You’re doin’ fine.”

You pulled the fabric down slowly, watching as his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already hard from the weight of everything he’d just felt and everything you were about to do. You swallowed nervously, staring for a second too long.

Rhett noticed.

“Here,” he said softly, sitting up just slightly. He wrapped his hand around himself first, guiding yours over his. “Just like this. Nice and slow.” His fingers slid away, letting yours take over, his breath catching the second you squeezed him.

You started slow, pumping gently from the base to the tip. The skin was hot under your palm, smooth and taut, and you watched in fascination as he twitched beneath your touch. His head dropped back onto the pillow with a thud, a low groan tumbling from his throat.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “That’s it. Just like that.”

You tightened your grip a little, experimenting, and Rhett’s hips lifted off the bed slightly. He let out a quiet, broken moan. “Fuck, darlin’–you’re already drivin’ me crazy.”

Emboldened by his reaction, you leaned forward, licking a slow, uncertain stripe up the underside of his shaft. He hissed between his teeth, his hand flying to your hair, not pushing–just holding. Anchoring.

“You sure?” He asked, voice tight.

You nodded, lips brushing the tip. “I’m sure.”

Then you took him into your mouth.

Just the head at first–soft and careful. The taste was salty and clean, a little musky, faintly bitter, but not bad. Just…Him.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, feeling his thighs tense under your hands, and then took him a little deeper, bobbing your head slowly, finding a rhythm.

Rhett cursed under his breath, his grip tightening in your hair.

“Jesus, Y/N,” He rasped. “You feel so good…So fuckin’ good.”

You kept going, learning by the way he moaned, by how his legs twitched, by the way he tugged at the sheets. You tried to take him deeper–and gagged, just slightly, your throat tightening around him. You pulled off, coughing softly, lips slick and eyes watering.

Rhett sat up a little too fast.

“Hey, hey–Y/N, you don’t have to do that,” He murmured, pushing your hair back, “Take it easy on yourself, alright? You ain’t gotta prove anythin’.”

You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m okay,” You whispered, voice breathy but determined.

And then you went back down.

This time slower. More confident. You pumped with one hand and sucked gently, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Rhett’s breath went ragged again, his voice wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re–goddamn, you’re so good at this,” He groaned, hips twitching against your hand.

It didn’t take long after that.

You felt his thighs start to tremble, the hand in your hair tightening as he gasped, “Shit–I’m gonna come–“ It was more of a warning than anything, but you didn’t pull away. You just kept going.

His climax hit with a low, drawn-out moan. His hips stuttered and you felt his warmth spill over your tongue–salty, thick, slightly bitter with a sharp edge that made your throat clench. You swallowed instinctively, slow, letting it slide down, feeling him shudder beneath you.

When you pulled off, your lips were slick, your eyes glassy.

You licked your lips once and blinked up at him.

“…Did I do good?” You asked softly.

Rhett stared at you like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

Then he sat up, grabbed your face with both hands–his touch tender but firm–and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue massaging yours, tasting himself on you and you on him. He pulled back breathless.

”You were fucking perfect…So fucking perfect.” You collapsed back onto the mattress with a soft, stunned laugh, breath still coming in shaky waves as you wiped at your lips with the back of your hand. Rhett was beside you in a heartbeat, his strong arms already tugging you toward him like he couldn’t stand to have even an inch of space between you anymore.

You let him pull you into his chest–his skin still warm, heartbeat steady but strong beneath your cheek. His arm draped low over your waist, the other curling behind your shoulders like he was trying to wrap around as much of you as he could.

There was no tension now. No nerves. Just the quiet intimacy of skin on skin and breath against breath.

Rhett sighed softly into your hair, his mouth grazing your forehead before murmuring, lazy and fond, “We should do this more often…”

You let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle against his collarbone, your voice soft. “Yeah… I completely agree.”

There was a pause. The kind that felt full–not empty. Like something was waiting behind it.

You lifted your hand slowly, tracing a fingertip along his chest without looking at him. Then, voice smaller, more vulnerable:”You’re so…Safe.” Rhett went still beneath you.

Not tense. Just…Quiet. Like your words had caught him off guard and gone somewhere deep.

Then he smirked–soft and slow, the kind of smile you’d only seen a handful of times before. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, barely more than a brush of lips against skin, but it made you shiver.

“We can do whatever you want together,” He murmured, his voice like warm honey. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

That–his reassurance, his promise–settled something in your chest. Something that had been unsettled for a long, long time.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. Your nose nudged his jaw, and your lips were still curved when you whispered “You really mean it?”

“Of course I do.” He said simply. You couldn’t help the smile that rose up then, soft and wide and honest. It spread slowly, uncontainable, tugging at your cheeks as your hand splayed over his chest and you cuddled in closer.

Rhett exhaled against your hair, one hand trailing up and down your back in soothing strokes.

“You know what?” You whispered, voice thick with something more than just affection now–something raw and real and aching to be spoken aloud. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt like…Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe I’m not the broken one.”

His fingers stilled. Then tightened gently at your waist.

“It was never you,” He said, quiet but firm. “They just didn’t know how to do things.” Your eyes welled unexpectedly. But you didn’t look away.

And Rhett didn’t look away from you either–not even when you whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

“For…For showing me what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Rhett’s brow creased slightly, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against your forehead again, like he was sealing the moment there.

Then, against your skin, he murmured, “Ain’t even gotten started yet, darlin’.”

————————

You and Rhett made an effort to see each other every other day after that morning.

It wasn’t always planned. Sometimes it was just a lazy drive that ended in a shared milkshake and quiet conversation. Other times it was louder–pool hall banter, bar games, him showing up at your place just to fix the damn sink he swore wasn’t level. But no matter what it started as, it always ended the same:

With your bodies pressed together. With your hands on his chest. With his lips parting against yours like he’d been starving all day.

The first time it happened again was at the drive-in.

You wore cutoff shorts and one of his flannels tied loose at your waist, and you didn’t even make it halfway through the previews before your legs found his lap. The movie faded behind you like static. His palm settled low on your back, and your mouth found his in the kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your fingers curl in his shirt.

You didn’t even remember what was playing. All you remembered was the sound of your breathing turning into gasps when his hand slid between your thighs, his voice rough against your ear.

“You gonna let me feel how worked up you are already?”

You reached down, grabbed his wrist, and guided him to the apex of your thighs–slow, sure. His fingertips pressed against the damp heat soaking through your thin cotton panties, and Rhett exhaled like he’d been punched.

“Jesus,” He murmured, his forehead tipping against yours as his fingers flexed, just barely moving. “You’re soaked.”

You nodded, breath already hitching as you shifted slightly in his lap, grinding your hips forward just a touch. The thick muscle of his denim-clad thigh was already pressing against your core in the most devastating way.

“I wanna try something,” You whispered.

His eyes flicked up. Searching. Heated. Still trying to catch up with this version of you—bold, direct, knowing what you wanted and how you wanted it.

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” You admitted, your voice breathy but firm. “Especially with you.”

His lips parted. His chest rose.

And then he smirked.

“Okay,” He said simply. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

That’s all it took.

You adjusted your knees on either side of his lap, straddling him completely, your hands pressed to his shoulders for balance as you positioned yourself just right. His thigh was firm beneath you–years of riding and wrangling muscle. And you sank down onto it slowly, the seam of his jeans dragging perfectly against your soaked panties.

A quiet gasp escaped your throat.

Rhett groaned, hands rising to grip your hips–gentle, grounding, but not controlling. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your waist as he watched your eyes flutter, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“You good, sweetheart?” He murmured.

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “So good.”

You started slow. Grinding gently against him in small, slow circles–testing pressure, building friction. The thick denim created just enough resistance to drive you mad, the fabric catching on your clit with every pass.

You rolled your hips again. And again. Shakier each time.

Rhett’s grip tightened, guiding you just slightly–his hands molding to your curves like he was born to hold them. “That’s it,” He breathed, voice almost reverent. “Just like that… Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”

You whimpered, burying your face in his neck for a moment as the sensations built, wave after wave, hot and pulsing and slow. Your hands curled into the flannel on his chest, and you swore you could feel his heart hammering.

Then you pulled back just enough to kiss him.

Hard.

He groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, encouraging your movements, letting you use him–letting you take your pleasure from him like he wanted nothing more. Your hips began to rock faster, your thighs trembling, the damp patch growing darker on his jeans with every pass of your soaked panties.

“Fuck, darlin’,” He gasped, his forehead pressed to yours. “You’re gonna come just like this?”

You nodded, dizzy, breathless. “I can’t stop…Rhett–I’m gonna–”

He kissed you again–slow this time, anchoring you as your hips faltered and your whole body seized up.

You came on his thigh with a broken sob of his name, shaking hard against him, every nerve burning, clenching around nothing as your hips twitched one last time and stilled.

Rhett held you through it, murmuring sweet things against your temple as you slumped forward, boneless and buzzing.

“That was…” You panted, barely able to form a sentence.

“Yeah,” Rhett said, his own breath shaky as he kissed the side of your head. “It was fuckin’ perfect.”

From that moment on, it was like you couldn’t stop.

The next week, he was driving you home, windows cracked, your hand resting on his thigh like it was second nature now. And somewhere between a curve in the road and a long silence, you leaned over, unzipped his jeans, and slipped your hand inside.

He choked on a breath. “Jesus, Y/N–what are you doin’?”

“Helping,” You said, voice teasing and low as your fingers wrapped around him.

You stroked him slow, lazy, while he tried to keep his eyes on the road, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. When he came–hot and fast–you licked it off your hand and the skin of his stomach without hesitation.

Rhett nearly crashed the damn truck.

Another time, you just climbed into his lap without warning. No teasing. No warm-up. You just needed him–needed the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, the security of his hands cupping the back of your neck like if he let go, you’d vanish.

You kissed him like you were going to disappear if he didn’t hold you tighter.

And he did.

Every time, he did.

He was addicted to you.

And you were addicted to him.

Yet somehow, you still hadn’t had sex.

Not because you didn’t want to. But because you kept finishing each other off before either of you could think straight.

It was chaotic. It was messy. It was you and Rhett–tangled in passion, steeped in something deeper neither of you had put into words yet.

Until one quiet evening when the summer air hung low and warm, and you turned to him and said:

“Wanna look at the stars with me?”

He blinked. Smirked. “Like, right now?”

“Right now,” You said, already sliding your shoes on. “Bring pillows and a blanket for the truck bed.” Rhett raised a brow, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth curving into something crooked and full of knowing.

“Oh,” He drawled, slinging an arm around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “You’re plannin’ somethin’.”

You only grinned as you wiggled out of his arms, walking out ahead of him before calling over your shoulder:

“Damn right I am.”

———————————

You and Rhett had a specific place you would go to when you wanted to look at the stars.

It was a lookout you had both found randomly one night, years ago, when you’d gotten lost coming back from a circuit. The GPS cut out somewhere along a winding dirt road, and the two of you had been bickering about turns when the trees finally gave way to a clearing so wide and open it looked like the sky had cracked open just for you. The ridge overlooked a valley, endless and quiet, the stars so close it felt like you could pluck them from the sky if you reached high enough.

That was the place he drove to tonight.

His hand was on your bare thigh, squeezing gently, fingers skimming just beneath the hem of your shorts. The low hum of the truck’s engine mingled with an old country song playing through the speakers–something slow and warm, full of steel guitar and dusty longing. The cool summer air flowed through the open windows, tousling your hair, raising goosebumps on your arms. But Rhett’s palm was warm and steady against your skin, his thumb tracing little circles lazily.

You shifted slightly in your seat, thighs parting just a little more, and he immediately took notice.

His fingers drifted inward–just a little. Just enough to make your stomach clench.

Then he started tracing letters.

Soft. Slow. One at a time, with the very tip of his finger, like he was spelling a secret across your skin.

“What’s that one?” He murmured, not taking his eyes off the road.

You blinked. Swallowed. “Uh… An S?”

“Wrong,” He smirked, squeezing your thigh.

“An E?”

“Nope.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “Then what was it?”

“Not tellin’,” He said, dragging another letter right after it, slower this time. “Guess again.”

You stared down at his hand, heat blooming low in your belly. “D?”

“That one was,” He said, a low chuckle caught in his throat. “But not the one before it.”

Your cheeks burned. You knew what he was spelling now.

He leaned closer, his voice thick. “Want me to keep goin’?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah…Keep going.”

He traced another letter.

And another.

You were just about to reach for him–just about to say screw the stargazing and climb into his lap right there in the cab–when the headlights hit the edge of the clearing, and the trees broke apart.

You both went still.

The lookout was exactly how you remembered it: tall grass, wildflowers curling in the moonlight, and the stars above glowing like soft embers in an old fireplace. The valley stretched below, dark and quiet, and the only sound was the breeze rustling through the open windows and the soft creak of the truck tires crunching over gravel.

Rhett cut the engine.

The music died.

Silence swelled between you, not heavy–just full. Like both of you were thinking the same thing and neither of you wanted to ruin it by saying it out loud.

Then Rhett opened his door and climbed out. You followed, your legs shaky as you stepped onto the grass, the air cool against your thighs. The tension was still simmering in your veins, but now it had space to breathe.

You grabbed the first blanket from the backseat while Rhett grabbed the pillows and the top blanket.

The two of you worked in an unspoken rhythm.

You laid the first blanket down flat across the truck bed, smoothing the edges with your palms. The metal beneath was still faintly warm from the earlier sun. Rhett climbed in beside you, placing the pillows near the cab, his knee brushing yours as he tossed the second blanket over your shoulders.

You didn’t speak as you climbed under it together.

You didn’t have to.

His body curved naturally around yours as you settled onto your sides, facing each other, the warmth of the blanket sealed around your bodies like a cocoon. Your foreheads almost touched. Your breath did.

Rhett’s hand found your waist under the blanket. His palm spread slow and deliberate, thumb grazing your hip, before lazily dragging across your stomach, the pads of his fingers skimming your skin like he was reading a prayer written in braille. You reached up and brushed his hair back gently, smoothing the strands that always stuck up in crooked directions. He sighed—low, content, eyes fluttering shut like your touch alone could unravel him.

His fingers slipped higher beneath the hem of your shirt, slowly, carefully. He tugged it up until you sat up and peeled it over your head. The night air kissed your bare chest, nipples tightening instantly under the sudden exposure—but you weren’t cold. Not with the way Rhett looked at you.

He stared like he was witnessing something sacred.

Then he leaned forward, lips parting just enough to drag across your collarbone before his teeth sank in—not too hard, just enough to make you gasp.

“Painful?” he murmured against your skin.

You shook your head, your breath shaky. “Stings a bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

He smirked—something soft and sinful—and lowered his mouth again, kissing just beneath the mark he’d left behind. His tongue laved the spot slowly, like an apology and a promise all at once.

Then, his voice was velvet-wrapped gravel against your skin.

“Is there anything else you want to do with me? Any ideas you’ve got in mind?”

You shook your head slowly, eyes locking with his in the low, starlit dark. “I just want you to fuck me.”

He stilled. Just for a beat. Then smiled against your chest—slow and deep and pleased.

“Yeah?” he rasped, lifting his head to look you in the eye. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nodded, your heart pounding.

He leaned toward your jaw, kissing a soft trail until his lips brushed your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “Beg for it.”

You bit your bottom lip, breath catching, heart stuttering at the sheer weight of the way he said it. There was no mocking in it. No arrogance. Just pure, overwhelming need–controlled only by the thin thread of his patience.

His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, pale blue burning like lightning behind clouds. You leaned in and kissed him–soft, needy–and whispered against his lips, “Please…Fuck me…”

He shook his head, grinning with that maddening, slow confidence. “Gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart.” You kissed him again–more desperate now–and as you pulled back, his hand came up to your face. He cradled your cheek like you were breakable, his thumb tracing the soft curve of your bottom lip.

“Open up,” He murmured.

You obeyed.

Your lips parted, and he slid his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad against the back of your tongue. Instantly, your mouth watered, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him gently. His eyes darkened, watching you like he could come undone just from this.

He pulled his thumb out slowly, a glistening trail connecting your lips to the pad of his finger, then dragged it down–past your chin, your chest–until it disappeared beneath the waistband of your shorts.

His soaked thumb found your clit in one perfect stroke.

You gasped. Bucked.

“C’mon, Y/N…” He coaxed, voice a rasp as he rubbed slow, tight circles. “You want it, right?”

“Yes,” You whimpered, your hips grinding helplessly into his hand. “God, Rhett–yes–please–I need you–”

He groaned at the sound of your voice, fucked-out and pleading, and pressed his thumb harder.

“Keep talkin’,” He muttered, eyes flicking down to where his hand moved beneath your waistband. “Want to hear you beg while I’ve got you all worked up like this.”

“I want you to fuck me,” You gasped, your palm reaching for his lap now, squeezing his cock through his jeans. He was already hard–thick and burning hot under your touch. “I want you inside me–I want to feel it, Rhett. All of you. I want you to ruin me slow.”

He swore under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”

You kept rubbing, palming him harder now, feeling him twitch and grow impossibly harder.

“I want you to come inside me,” You whispered, eyes glassy. “I want to feel you finish deep. I want you to fill me up until I’m sore. Until I’m dripping with it.”

Rhett’s jaw clenched, his breath shuddered–and his thumb didn’t stop moving. Every nerve in your body was locked on the delicious, unrelenting drag of his thumb over your clit–your underwear now utterly ruined, soaked straight through, clinging to your folds in the most humiliating, erotic way.

Rhett kissed you again–hotter this time. Sloppier. The kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your breath catch. His tongue slid past your lips, curling against yours with growing desperation, and when he finally pulled back, he did so only far enough to breathe against your mouth:

“Take off your shorts,” He rasped, voice wrecked. “And get on top.”

You nodded so fast it almost hurt, fumbling to shimmy them down. Your panties peeled off with them, sticky and wet between your thighs. You didn’t even try to hide the way they dropped to the side of the bed. Not with the way Rhett was watching you. Not with how he was already ripping open his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers in one rough, desperate tug.

His cock sprang free, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip, the moonlight catching on the slick sheen of it.

Your whole body ached as you climbed into his lap and straddled his waist, your knees bracing against the warm metal bed of the truck, the soft blanket bunched beneath them. You sank down slightly–not to take him in just yet, but to rub your soaked core along the full length of him.

The heat of him–thick and pulsing against you–dragged across your folds, every ridge and vein grinding right where you needed it. You tilted your head back with a breathless moan, your hips moving in slow, teasing circles, coating him in your arousal.

“Fuck,” Rhett groaned, his hands flying to your hips, holding you there, letting you grind against him like he was made for it. His eyes trailed up your body, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. Then he reached up and cupped your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful up there,” He rasped, voice trembling with restraint. “You like that? Like rubbin’ yourself on me like a good girl?”

You nodded frantically, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. “Fuck, Rhett…You already feel so good. I can’t wait any longer.”

He gave your nipples a teasing pinch, and you nearly came undone right there.

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” He murmured, voice thick with care and gentleness. “Take what you need from me, Y/N.” You reached between your bodies, wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, and guided him through your folds once more–wet and slow–coating him thoroughly before lifting your hips.

Then you aligned him with your entrance, and with one long, shaky breath…You sank down.

The head of his cock stretched you open, dragging against your walls in a way that made your whole body lock up. Your gasp cracked through the night air as you grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, using it as leverage while your head tilted back and your mouth dropped open.

“Shit,” You whimpered, your voice trembling. “So big…”

“Fuck,” Rhett gritted out beneath you, his jaw tight, his knuckles white where he gripped your hips. “You’re tight, sweetheart…Jesus Christ, I can feel every part of you.” You kept lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, your inner walls gripping him like a vice as you took him in deeper, stretching around his girth with a burn that made your eyes flutter.

“Rhett–” Your voice cracked, pleasure blooming slow and low in your belly, “–Feels so full… So deep…”

He looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. His head tipped back for a second, the cords of his neck flexing, jaw clenched as he tried not to buck up into you too soon. His hands left your hips only to return to your chest, massaging your breasts again with wide, reverent palms, his thumbs brushing your nipples in slow circles.

“God, you’re perfect,” He rasped, his voice shaking now. You whimpered again as you bottomed out, the base of him pressed flush against you, the stretch relentless. Your thighs were trembling already.

Then his hand came up–slow, gentle–and wrapped lightly around your neck.

Not choking. Not restraining.

Just holding you there, grounding you, letting his thumb graze your jawline.

“You okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, lips parted, barely able to get the words out. “So okay,” You breathed. “You feel so fucking good inside me, Rhett.”

He groaned again, like your words alone could push him over the edge. His fingers curled slightly around your neck, just enough pressure to make your walls flutter around him.

“That’s it,” He whispered, eyes burning into yours. “Take me. Use me. Fuckin’ ride me Y/N. I’m yours.” He watched you with something close to awe–his pupils wide, breath ragged as your hips rolled in that uneven, desperate rhythm, your thighs quivering from how much you were feeling, from the stretch and heat and weight of him pulsing deep inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N…” Rhett groaned, his voice strained and reverent, one of his hands gripping your hip as you moved. “You’re so fuckin’ tight like this…Every time you come back down, I feel your pussy clutch me like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

Your breath hitched.

You whimpered again, high and shaky, your hands splayed on his chest for balance as you tried to keep going, but your rhythm faltered, hips stuttering with every twitch of your muscles. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls made you cry out a little louder.

That’s when his hands slid lower.

“Let me show you somethin’,” Rhett murmured, voice gravel-smooth as he sat up slightly and wrapped both hands around your waist. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was grounding you–like he was giving you something to fall apart against.

He pulled your hips forward, grinding you down slow, dragging your clit along the thick patch of hair above his cock.

You gasped, your eyes flying wide, hands bracing hard against his shoulders.

“Jesus fucking Christ–Rhett,” You gasped, your head falling back as your thighs quaked around him. “Oh my fucking god–”

“That’s it,” he breathed, dragging you again, slower now, more deliberate. “Feel that? Right there? That’s where I want you. Grind on me, sweetheart. Just like that.”

Your whimpers melted into full-bodied moans as he kept your hips moving in that rhythm–circling and dragging until you were damn near sobbing against his mouth, your clit raw and throbbing with every glide across the coarse hair and the thick base of his cock.

He didn’t stop until he felt your hips start moving in sync on their own. He let his hands slip back up to your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples again as you rocked into him like you were losing your mind.

“Good girl,” He groaned, voice deeper now. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect. Soaked for me…Riding me just the way I like.”

Your breath hitched, your hands tangling in his hair as he leaned in, kissing up your throat–sloppy, hungry, and hot.

Then–suddenly–he sat up fully, his hands grabbing your ass and pulling you closer, forcing you to stay pressed tight against him as his mouth found your neck.

He gripped your hair and yanked it gently, exposing the smooth column of your throat.

And he started kissing. Licking. Biting.

Not enough to hurt–just enough to make you whine.

“Bet none of those assholes ever touched you like this,” He growled into your neck, rutting up into you now–slow at first, but deep. “Bet none of ‘em knew how to fuck you right.”

You gasped as he hit that spot again, your nails digging into his shoulders. “They didn’t,” You whimpered. “Fuck, Rhett–they didn’t. You’re the only one who’s ever–”

“Damn right I am,” He snapped, his teeth grazing your throat. “You hear that? That’s what you sound like when someone actually gives a shit about makin’ you feel good.”

He slammed into you again, this time rougher–deep and hard and relentless–and your whole body jolted forward, your nails dragging down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He groaned at the sting. “Mark me up, Y/N. Let me feel it.” You were crying out now, your rhythm breaking down into messy, frantic movements, grinding and bouncing as best you could with how hard he was gripping your waist, how deep he was rutting up into you.

“Gonna come, Rhett–fuck–I’m gonna–”

“Come for me,” He rasped, slamming into you harder. “Soak me. Make a goddamn mess, sweetheart.”

Your vision blurred.

Your body locked up.

And then everything broke open.

You screamed his name as your orgasm ripped through you–wet and loud and overwhelming. You trembled violently, your whole body twitching as you felt yourself gush around him, soaking his lap and thighs, your slick coating every inch of him.

“Goddamn,” Rhett growled, his breath breaking into ragged pants. “Fuck–Y/N, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight–shit, I’m gonna–”

Then his hands flew to your hips.

He slammed you down against him one final time, holding you there with a bruising grip, his voice guttural and feral as he cried out:

“Fuck, I’m gonna come inside you–fill you up–gonna stuff you full of it, darlin’, so you’ll still feel me dripping out of you tomorrow–Jesus Christ–”

You gasped as you felt it.

The twitch. The pulse. Every thick, hot rope of cum flooding you so deep it made you clench again. He buried himself as far as he could go, his hips bucking wildly against you as he spilled every last drop.

You scratched your nails down his back again–hard.

He didn’t stop you. If anything, he moaned louder.

“Fuck yes, baby. Just like that.”

You collapsed forward, breath shaking, your chest pressed to his, your bodies fused together–hot and slick and shaking.

And he held you.

Tight.

Like you were the only thing tethering him to this goddamn earth.

Neither of you spoke at first.

Just heavy breathing. Soft trembling. The sound of your heart pounding where it pressed against his.

Then–barely audible–Rhett whispered against your ear:

“Guess what I’m writing?” Your breath was still ragged. Shallow. The tremors hadn’t stopped yet, and your chest was still rising and falling in uneven waves as you lay sprawled over him, your body warm and slick against his, your heart pounding so hard you swore it was echoing in his chest too.

“…Okay,” You whispered hoarsely, your voice barely carrying above the rasp in your throat.

Rhett didn’t say anything at first. He just smiled. One of those slow, crooked, half-cocky ones he couldn’t control when he was too soft to be smug and too smitten to pretend he wasn’t.

Then you felt it.

The gentle press of his fingertip against your outer thigh–bare, slick with sweat and still trembling slightly from aftershocks.

He dragged a slow line into your skin.

“I,” You breathed, voice soft and cautious.

He nodded, the tip of his nose brushing your jaw as he traced another.

“L,” You murmured, and he smirked faintly.

“Yeah,” He whispered against your cheek, his lips grazing your skin.

You didn’t breathe as he drew the next one–round and smooth.

“O.”

Another nod. His smile grew, quiet and reverent, the kind he only ever gave you when you were laughing in his passenger seat or half-asleep in his flannel.

And then he traced the last letter. Angled. Sharp. Deliberate.

“V,” you whispered. And this time, you stilled.

You pulled back just enough to look down at him, your hands sliding up to cradle his face. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. Just met your gaze with those wide, ocean-blue eyes–like he was terrified and relieved and stunned that he’d said it at all.

Your thumbs brushed the corners of his mouth, your fingers curling gently along his jaw.

And your smile–God, your smile–was soft and sure and finally at peace as you leaned in just close enough for him to hear you when you said:

“I love you too, Rhett.”

The air shifted.

He exhaled like he’d been holding it forever, his brows twitching with something emotional and overwhelmed, and then he leaned up, kissing you–soft and slow and messy with gratitude.

When he pulled back, his voice cracked.

“You’re so good, Y/N…”

You smiled again, barely able to speak as your hands continued to caress his cheeks, your fingertips memorizing every inch of him like a prayer.

“You’re perfect, Rhett,” You whispered. “I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be in my life.”

And this time–neither of you said anything after.

Because everything that needed to be said had already been written across your skin.

#rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbott x you #outer range #lewis pullman the man you are #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman #sweet lordy lord we love cowboys lol #cowboys #howdy doody #Rhett Abbott is a frickin hottie #Spotify

315 notes · View notes

happyk44 · 2 days ago

Text

[Text ID: 1. Most of us think about love as something that happens to us. We fall. We get crushed.

But what I like about this study is how it assumes that [highlight] love is an action. [end highlight]

2. love really just is *sharing blankets* *driving together in silence* *this song made me think of you* *I made them for you* *having the most fun just talking* *cold hands warm hearts* *I got home safe* *you said you needed one so I found one for you*

3. I like to cook; I like to sew. They’re peaceful things, and they’re an expression of caring.

4. He loves history. He wanted to write a biography of John Quincy Adams. I, shamefully, knew almost nothing about John Quincy Adams, so I went online and bought every biography of him I could find. One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. [highlight] “What does love mean to you?” [end highlight] I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end.

5. My dad was eating pistachios so I reached my hand out and he just started peeling them and giving them to me. Then suddenly went “I really hope you find someone who loves you a lot” and I went “enough to peel my pistachios for me?” And he laughed and said “yeah exactly” before carrying on giving me more

6. you save me half a bag of skins, the hard parts, my fav, dusted orange with hot

7. you make us tacos with shells I like and you don’t

8. No, baby, that was great, just let me hold you know. Let me run out, it’ll just take a second. I’ll be back before you know it, and then you won’t have to wait until morning. Sure, I’ll look at it right now. It’s no trouble. Sure, I can wait. Just let me know when you’re ready, we can go. Sure, I’ll come over and bring my tools. I don’t mind. Sure, I have time [highlight] I always have time for you. Sure, whatever you need. [end highlight] Whatever you need.

9. I hear my voice repeating what I used to say to my husband: Love is action, I used to say to him

/end ID]

love as action

mandy len catron / @sweetnd / joan didion / julia nicole camp / @honey-fire / danez smith / s. bear bergman / marie howe

#described #love #poetry #quotes #web weaving #reblogged #pics #mandy len catron #sweetnd #joan didion #julia nicole camp #honey-fire #danez smith

2K notes · View notes

paxaz535 · 1 day ago

Text

keep talking - pazzi

slow-burn, intimate, voice kink, emotional tension, and then soft smut.

—

paige had been restless all night.

it wasn’t the kind of restless that came from too much caffeine or leftover adrenaline from practice — this was something heavier. needier. a kind of tightness in her chest that made the sheets feel too cold and her apartment too big.

she’d tried everything — music, reading, stretching. nothing helped.

so she did what she always did when her body wouldn’t settle: she reached for azzi.

it started with a simple text.

you up?

the reply came almost instantly.

yeah. you okay?

that part made paige pause. azzi always asked that. even when it was late. even when it was clear the answer was “no.” she didn’t pry — she just asked.

call me?

the phone lit up before she could even put it down.

“hey,” azzi said, her voice low and soft like it had just crawled out from under a blanket. “what’s goin on?”

“i dunno,” paige admitted, curling onto her side. “couldn’t sleep.”

“me neither.” azzi’s voice had a little smile tucked in it. “maybe we’re just wired from practice.”

maybe. or maybe it was the way azzi said her r’s with that little rasp. or the way she always sounded so calm even when she wasn’t.

paige didn’t know when her voice had started doing this to her — making her feel warm and tight in places that had nothing to do with emotion. she just knew it was happening. again.

they talked for a while. about nothing and everything.

azzi told her a story about some teammate drama from last year that paige had never heard — a hilarious retelling of a fight over a stolen pair of socks and an awkward group dinner that followed.

paige laughed, genuinely, and loved how azzi did all the voices, even adding dramatic pauses for effect.

“—and then, bro,” azzi said, “she threw the breadstick at her. like deadass. flung it across the table.”

paige giggled, but her hand was already sneaking lower, slipping under the hem of the oversized t-shirt she’d thrown on after her shower. azzi’s voice had settled deep into her body now — not just something to listen to, but something she felt.

her thighs pressed together. a light squeeze. a shift of her hips.

“you’re not even laughing anymore,” azzi said after a beat. “did i lose you?”

“no, i’m—” paige cleared her throat. “i’m here. just… tired.”

azzi softened. “you wanna hang up and sleep?”

“no!” paige said quickly. “just… stay. talk more.”

azzi chuckled lightly. “you like my voice that much?”

god, yes.

but she just hummed, drawing a slow breath in through her nose.

“what should i talk about then?”

“doesn’t matter,” paige whispered. “just keep talking.”

azzi didn’t question it. didn’t push.

she launched into another story — this one about her mom calling her and listing every single thing she saw at the farmer’s market even though azzi wasn’t even in the same state.

paige listened, only half-hearing it. her eyes were closed now. her fingers moved slow under the waistband of her shorts, feather-light, just enough to chase that pressure that’d been building.

“—and then she goes, ‘azzi, they have homemade mustard, can you believe that?’ and i’m like, ‘yeah, mom, i’m literally in the middle of a workout right now.’”

paige let out a shaky breath.

it was so quiet she didn’t think azzi would hear it.

but she did.

“you good?”

“mhm,” paige said quickly, a little too breathy. “yeah. keep going.”

azzi hesitated this time. her voice dropped an inch.

“…you sure?”

paige swallowed. her hand stilled. she didn’t want her to stop talking. god, that would be worse than getting caught.

“m’fine,” she said, a little raspier now. “just tired. swear.”

azzi accepted it. or maybe she didn’t — but she let it go.

“okay,” she said gently. “then close your eyes and just listen, alright?”

and god. that tone.

that tone broke her.

paige whimpered — quiet, but it slipped out before she could stop it.

azzi stopped again.

“…paige?”

paige’s breath caught in her throat.

azzi was quiet for a few seconds. and then — her voice changed completely. lower. firmer.

“…wait.”

“are you—?”

paige didn’t answer.

that was the answer.

“you called me just to hear my voice while you…” azzi trailed off, a tiny laugh in the back of her throat. “jesus, p.”

paige bit her lip. she should’ve felt embarrassed, but her whole body was lit up — her skin was hot, her core pulsing. she wanted azzi to stay on the phone more than she wanted to breathe.

“i wasn’t gonna,” she said softly. “it just… happened. you sound too good.”

azzi exhaled into the phone. “fuck.”

there was a long pause.

“you still touching yourself?”

paige nodded even though she didn’t answer out loud.

“…good.”

the command in azzi’s voice made her whole body tense.

“put me on speaker.”

she did.

“spread your legs for me, baby.”

paige obeyed.

“now go slow. i wanna hear it this time.”

paige’s hand was already back between her legs before azzi even finished the sentence.

she was soaked now. breath coming out in soft, quick puffs. the sheets twisted beneath her as she adjusted, putting the phone on speaker and resting it beside her ear.

“good girl,” azzi said, and her voice was different now — thicker, rougher. still calm, still her, but drenched in something heavier.

“you’re such a mess, aren’t you?”

“you couldn’t even make it through a stupid story without getting needy.”

paige whimpered. her fingers rubbed slow circles, and she could already feel the edge close. embarrassingly close.

“is it my voice that does that to you?” azzi asked. “gets you all worked up like this?”

“yes,” paige whispered, barely able to speak. “god, yes…”

azzi hummed, pleased. “then let me give you something worth coming to.”

paige let out a shaky breath.

“slide your hand under,” azzi instructed. “middle finger. slow circles. soft. i want you to feel everything.”

paige obeyed, her hips arching into her own touch. the friction made her gasp.

“mhm. like that,” azzi encouraged. “don’t rush. we’re not doing that fast, messy shit right now. you’re gonna listen.”

paige swallowed, trying to hold it together.

“i wish i was there,” azzi went on, voice like velvet. “i’d pin your legs open and talk you through it. make you look me in the eye the whole time. no hiding. no squirming. just you — dripping wet, begging me to keep talking.”

paige’s moan was soft but desperate. she was close. too close.

“not yet,” azzi said, like she could hear it in her breath. “slow down.”

“z…” paige begged. “please—”

“i said slow.”

paige whined. her body was tense. her stomach fluttered. she was straddling the edge and aching for release.

“now,” azzi said softly, “tell me what it feels like.”

paige blinked hard, eyes fluttering closed. “warm. tight. so—so much…”

“you wanna come?”

“so bad,” paige whimpered. “please, z, i can’t—”

“then listen to my voice,” azzi said, dipping into a growl. “and don’t stop until i say so.”

paige’s whole body trembled.

“rub faster now. just a little. yeah, right there. you’re so close for me, aren’t you?”

“yes—fuck, yes—”

“god, i can’t wait to see you like this in person. hear the real thing.”

“you’re gonna come so hard for me, baby.”

and that was it.

paige’s body tensed, her breath catching, and she came with a sharp cry, biting her lip to keep from being too loud — the sound of azzi’s voice still pouring through the speaker like a command in her bloodstream.

after, the room was quiet — the kind of quiet that felt safe. still. warm.

paige was panting softly, fingers still resting against herself, her chest rising and falling in slow, grateful waves.

“you good?” azzi asked, voice lighter now, but still tender. “need water?”

paige laughed weakly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re the one who called me to get off to my voice.”

“…you’re not mad?”

“mad?” azzi scoffed. “paige, that was the hottest shit i’ve ever heard.”

paige smiled, flushed and content. “can we fall asleep on the phone now?”

azzi chuckled. “yeah, baby. i got you.”

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi

368 notes · View notes

undyingdecay · 2 days ago

Note

also tho, the brainworms have gotten to me and i can't get the idea of cnc with bob out of my head, but where bob isn't the *aggressor. like, i'd just love to see him in a relationship where he is loved just as needly as he loves them.

(*i don't know if that's really the right word, but you can get the vibe i hope?)

((also also, i know you've written a fair bit of cnc with bob before, so feel free to disregard if this feels too similar to what you've written before! i won't mind at all; congrats on the followers!))

- 🦇

you’d forgotten what exactly you said, some offhand comment or a teasing jab that landed a little too sharp, the kind that made him withdraw not with a slam of the door or a shouted word, but with an ache. 48 hours of quiet sighs, passive-aggressive hums in response to your greetings, brushing your hand off his shoulder in the kitchen when you tried to smooth things over with an apologetic squeeze. but the thing about bob — your bob — was that he was terrible at staying mad when his dick got involved.

and you could see it, the way his jaw clenched when you slid up onto the bed, inching toward him while he feigned engrossment in whatever worn paperback he'd been thumbing through for the last half hour. "hi," you murmur, voice syrup-thick, curling yourself into his side like old habit. he gives you that half-lidded glance, irritation softened by the simple fact of you being close. and when he mutters a flat "hey," like it physically pained him to pretend not to care — you know you’ve got him.

so you push it. crawl a little higher, settling a thigh over his lap, and the second you feel the slight twitch against your skin you know he’s lying through his teeth when he says, "i don't wanna today… maybe tomorrow?"

bull. shit.

there had never, not once in the entirety of your relationship, been a moment where robert reynolds didn’t want you, didn't ache for your hands on him, your lips somewhere they shouldn't be, your teeth in his throat. it just wasn’t in his nature. not really.

so you grab the book, flicking it to the side with little care for its place in whatever plot, straddling him properly and pinning his wrists above his head, his back to the pillows. and sure — he could snap you in half if he wanted to. could send you flying with a flex of those absurdly broad arms. but he doesn’t.

instead, he thrashes just enough to make theheadboard knock against the wall. whines sharp and breathless in a way that makes your pulse race, hips stuttering up against your center like he’s trying not to but failing miserably.

“stop,” he pants, and it’s so pitifully unconvincing it makes your stomach flip. because if he really wanted you to stop, the room would be empty and you’d be on your ass with a dent in the drywall. instead, he’s flushed to the ears, lashes fluttering, breathing gone shaky as your teeth find his throat.

and you don’t let up, not when he bucks beneath you like that, not when he huffs and turns his face into the pillow like he can pretend you aren’t straddling him, warm and slick where you’re grinding down against the tent in his briefs. no — you push it.

“could throw me off any time, baby,” you murmur, lips grazing the edge of his ear, letting your teeth scrape just to hear the little choked noise it earns you. and it’s there again — the telltale twitch in his cock under you, already dampening the front of those soft, worn boxer briefs. soaked through.

“hate it — stop ,” he rasps, hips jerking up sharp enough to knock your rhythm for a second, the headboard thudding a little louder this time, his face flushed so deep it’s blooming down his throat now.

“yeah?” you grin, trailing a hand down his chest, nails teasing over his nipples, watching his abs tense, his arms straining where you’ve got his wrists pinned to the pillow. “doesn’t feel like hate, sweetheart.”

and when your hand slips lower, palming the outline of him through damp cotton, his whole body stutters. a desperate little sound he tries to swallow breaks out of him when you squeeze just right, cock thick and hot in your palm, twitching under every stroke.

he bucks again, enough to make your cunt catch against the ridge of him, sticky through both layers of fabric, and his breath stutters so hard you know he’s close to breaking. but still — still he’s shaking his head, whining “don’t, don’t — ‘m mad at you —” like he doesn’t mean it, like it isn’t making him harder to say it out loud.

you lean down, teeth in his throat, your hand tugging the waistband down just enough to free him, flushed and leaking, heavy against his stomach. you fist him slow, mean, just to watch his eyes roll back when your thumb smears the slick over the tip.

“look at you, so needy” you purr against his skin, hips grinding down so the wet heat of you brushes his length, making him sob — actually sob, a wrecked little noise that has your cunt clenching hard around nothing.

and still — still — he’s trying to resist, fists balling in the sheets now, teeth grit so tight you swear you can hear them creak.

“stop, stop — i don’t wanna —”

but his cock is slick and straining and when you sink down onto him, slow and tight, he lets out this ragged, ruined sound,back arching, eyes wet, mumbling “fuck, fuck, fuck—” on repeat like a broken prayer.

and you don’t stop moving. ride him slow, grinding your hips just right while his cock drags deep and thick inside you, so good it aches, his hands shaking where you pin them.

you know he’s close when his thighs start to tremble, when his hips jerk up in these desperate little stutters, chasing your heat like it’s killing him not to come. so you slow down.

“not yet,” you warn, and he actually fucking whines, voice cracking when he pleads, “please, baby — please let me — i can’t —”

and you could keep him like this forever. because stubborn, pissy bob is your favorite bob — but begging, needy bob? drenched in sweat, flushed to his ears, cock twitching inside you while he whimpers apologies and filthy promises against your neck?

that’s how you settle a fight.

#.ᐟ.ᐟ #🦇 anon .ᐟ #robert reynolds #bob thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds fanfic #thunderbolts #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds smut #robert reynolds smut #⤷ robert reynolds #thunderbolts*#marvel

255 notes · View notes

miltonbarbie · 2 days ago

Note

Please hear me out I will give you my soul.

Michael Kaiser and his gf that he finds so cute he takes out all his cute aggression inside of her instead 💔

YES. FINALLY!! My calling... I have been summoned! ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

౨౿‧₊ ᵎᵎ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ᴀɢɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪෆɴ 🧸 .ᐟ

F!reader x Michael Kaiser who finally caved into his desires...

(NSFW)

──── ୨୧ ────

He knew you meant well, and he really did try his hardest not to stare at your ass when you woke him up this morning in nothing but his t-shirt, and those pink Lacey panties he got you for your birthday a few weeks ago.

You've done a lot of things to make him swoon and obsess over you, whether it being purposeful or not. But lately he's been finding real hard to keep his dick in his pants.

Whether it being you doing a simple 360 for him in a skirt you bought to look pretty for him, sleeping with your teddy bear he may or may not be secretly jealous off, or bending over in front of him with your backside "accidentally" grazing on him.

"Micha!~ You've been sleeping allllll day, g'morning!" You nudged him, grabbing him by both his arms and gently rocking him awake. There you were, his sweet loving girlfriend, with the same voice causing that massive tent in his pants.. How wonderful.

You've been living together for quite a while, and day after day after day he'd have to restraint himself from fucking you dumb on his cock because you were just to innocent to understand whenever he'd try and set the mood (¬_¬")💢

You had that adorable smile on your face, already so clingy in the morning.. Ruffling his hair, kissing his face, cooing him for how much of a sweet boyfriend he was.. He was panting in his pillow like a dog in heat at every word you spoke.

"M- Meine Leibe... Could you give me a minute? I'll be out, Micha promises." He gritted his teeth, his voice slightly strangled as he peeked out his covers to see your perfect ass leaving his room to give him some privacy. "M'kay, bye bye! I love you!"

...

He had jerked himself off instead, knowing he didn't have the guts to lay a perverted finger on you.. For now.

He was never a morning person, so everything at the moment was pissing him the hell off. But he just couldn't stay mad at you when he saw you push over a plate of pancakes towards him.

"For me?" "For you!"

You were leaned over the counter, smiling at him like the doll you were. He gripped his fork tighter, and put on a fake smile back.

He walked towards you, pulling you into a hug, your face buried in his torso as he held you awfully tight. He was patting your head, slowly moving down to grip your hips instead. "Aww, thank you baby.. I'm so grateful for you sometimes, I could just-"

You felt a shiver go up your spine as he groped your ass, fingers sneakily rubbing your slit through your panties. His fake-ass smile turned into a wicked grin.

"AH!" You gasped in horror, cheeks turning red.

"Oohh no.. Sorry Liebling.. Micha's hands slipped.." He teased, feigning innocence. He slipped his two fingers under the waistband of your underwear and started playing with your clit, maintaining eye contact. "You're soaked, huh? Stupid slut.. I knew you weren't innocent." His expression darkened into a scowl, shoving you against the kitchen counter and kissing you like he was a man starved.

His fingers were in knuckles-deep, you both could hear the filthy squelching sounds from your pretty pussy as you whined in response. "U- Unngh..~ S'mean..!" You whimpered, your lips forming into a pout. He glared at you in response, his fingers suddenly picking up the pace.

"Oh yeah? I'm mean? You've been teasing me all month, and I'm mean?" He said between gritted-teeth, watching as your face contorted with pleasure. "H- hhaah!~ M- Michaaaa s- stop that!~♡"

"Or what? You're gonna cum? And just from my fingers too.. Now imagine how it's gonna feel when I breed the shit out of your fucking cunt.." He panted in your ear, his body weight continuing to push you harder on the counter. You could practically hear his smirk growing.

"Cumming! C- cumming M- Michha!~" You squealed, your high-pitched whines going straight to his core. You tightened your thighs around his hand but he pulled away before you could finish. And you were left a desperate, whiny mess.

"Why'd you stop..?" You looked up at him desperately, and he held his slick-covered fingers in front of your face. Without a word, shoving them into your mouth. "Hmmm.. Because I can, silly girl." He hummed in amusement as you gagged on his fingers, pulling them out after a couple seconds.

"You don't like it when it's you being teased now, huh?" He pouted at you in fake remorse, fumbling his pants off when you were focused on his face.

You felt his bare length poking you through your panties, and you were nearly drooling from the sight because fuck- Michael Kaiser wasn't an average man..

"Fffuck Liebling.. It's so wet and I'm not even in yet.." He groaned, throwing his head back as he humped you with the little fabric in between you two. His hard bulge was grinding against your clothed pussy with desperation, and it already felt too big to fit.

"Put it in already.." You pleaded, and he grinned down at you like he won a trophy.

"You're so fucking cute." He lifted your legs up to toss your nuisance of underwear to the ground, then pushed you down so you were laying completely flat on the counter.

He didn't give you any time to adjust to him, slamming into your dripping cunt and rutting inside of you. "Do you- Haah..~ Know how long I've waited for this?" He asked, his smirk faltering slightly as he thrusted inside of you with every word.

You struggled to form words, choking out a sob with your knees pinned to your chest. "N- nuuh.. aH!~ Gentle- Please!" You begged, tongue lolled out and nails scratching at the counter top.

"Gentle? Hell no." He snarled, increasing his pace. The squelches from you two were downright horrendous, and he was getting off on it like a sicko. "I'm gonna c- cum- Fuck.." He buried his face in your neck, a whine escaping his mouth as he ground his cock into your cervix.

Tears fell down your pretty face, pulling and yanking on his hair for support. "I- I can't take it Micha!" "Shut up and let me- Ungh.." He didn't get to finish his sentence before his seed spilled out, filling your womb and pulling out with a satisfied grunt.

Your legs were twitching, bruised from his painfully harsh grip. You sniffled, and he sighed. "You wanna get ice cream?" He asked lovingly, wiping your tears with his thumb.

You smiled as he kissed the top of your head.

"Yes, please."

──── ୨୧ ────

Heh... I've done it once again. ദ്ദി˶ｰ̀֊ｰ́ ) ✧ Thank you my sweet Anon for requesting! I think this was one of my favs I've written so far!

200 notes · View notes

wcnderlnds · 2 days ago

Text

waste the night ★ choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: all it takes is one night, one simple choice and your life changes forever meeting a handsome stranger along the way. ・❥・word count: 2.4k ・❥・warnings: 18+, mdni. unprotected sex, dirty talk, rough sex, choking. swearing, drug mentions, usual squid game stuff. ・❥・authors note: this might be rubbish idk but i wanted to write something anyway so i'm posting and vanishing into the night <3

The small rectangle card lay on the bar in front of you, the symbols on it glaring at you, taunting you. When the guy in the suit had approached you, your first instinct was to walk away — stranger danger and all of that. But, when he offered you the card, mentioning there’d be a big cash prize if you took part and won, you had immediately snatched it from his hands. What really could be the harm in it? Play a few games and win some money. It didn’t sound too hard and you really needed the money. Life hadn’t been the kindest to you lately and it was safe to say you were at rock bottom.

For the last few weeks, you’d been staying on your friend’s couch. After catching your partner cheating on you, you had immediately packed your bags and left. On top of that, you had recently been laid off from your job so you had no income. You were homeless and jobless – legitimately at rock bottom. Your days were spent feeling sorry for yourself, trying to pick up the pieces of your broken life.

But this card? This was an opportunity to turn things around.

“Can I buy you a drink, Senorita?” The deep voice drew you from your thoughts, your head turning to see a purple haired guy leaning on the bar beside you. He wore a bright green shirt, tattoos covered his hands and arms, his purple hair a flat mess on his head but he still remained the best looking guy in the place.

“Sure, why not?” You shrugged your shoulders.

“What’s your poison?”

“Espresso Martini.”

The man wasted no time in calling the bartender over and ordering your drink. You couldn’t deny how good it felt that someone had taken such an interest in you to even want to buy you one. It had been so long since it had happened. Maybe he was just being kind, taking pity on you but the way his eyes raked over your body told you a different story. He was interested. He didn't even need to say it, his eyes did it for him. Those dark brown eyes that anyone could easily get lost in.

“Names Thanos, by the way,” he grinned, handing your drink over to you. It didn’t go amiss the way his fingers grazed yours, sending sparks through your body.

“Thanos?” You snickered. “Really?”

“Yeah. You don’t know me?”

“Should I?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you remember who I am by the end of the night.”

Usually, a comment like that would be an immediate turn off but there was something about this man that intrigued you. There was no doubt he was trouble but you were drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. When was the last time you’d ever felt like that? It had to have been years so a little indulgence wouldn’t hurt. The attention was nice, needed even. Being cheated on had made you feel insecure, like you weren’t enough but here was this handsome guy showering you with the attention that you sorely craved. It didn’t have to mean anything and it wouldn’t. He didn’t seem like the relationship type of guy anyway.

As the night wore on, you got to know him more. He was a rapper – he’d come second on some underground rapping show which you had to admit was pretty impressive. He’d told you about his home life, how his dad was a piece of shit, how much he loved his mom but he was constantly letting her down. You felt for him, you really did. As chaotic as he seemed, deep down he was an okay guy. He seemed to care, he just didn’t like to show it. When you’d told him about your partner, he’d offered to go and beat them up. That had made you laugh. This stranger that you barely knew wanted to fight for your honour, it was enough to make you almost forget how shit you felt.

It was three drinks in when you asked the question that you never thought you’d be asking someone ever again. As you placed your glass back down on the bar, you turned to Thanos, biting your lower lip as seductively as you could, hoping that he’d get the message. “Do you want to get out of here?”

His eyes lit up instantly. “Fuck yeah, I do. My place is just around the corner.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Thanos grabbed your hand, leading you out of the club, the music growing distant as you entered the streets of Seoul. This wasn’t usually your thing. Never had you really had a one night stand but for one night you just wanted to feel wanted. You wanted to feel like you mattered just for a few hours.

The second you entered his front door, he wasted no time in pushing you up against the wall, his lips on yours in a frenzied kiss. There was nothing gentle about it, his hands grabbing at any part of your body he could get to. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and off his head. He followed suit, pulling yours off your body. Then, he was diving back in, his tongue tangling with yours.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he mumbled against yours lips. His hand had now dove inside the shorts you were wearing, fingers sliding along the fabric your panties. It was almost embarrassing how wet you already were but, honestly, you didn’t care. It had been too long.

“Shutup,” you rolled your eyes, your fingers tugging at his hair. “Stop wasting time and fuck me already.”

“Sassy, huh? I’d watch that mouth of yours, Senorita.”

“Or what?”

He smirked at you, pushing your panties to the side and sliding a finger inside you without warning. You groaned at the relief, throwing your head back against the wall as he began to pump his finger in and out of you at speed. He added a second one, his free hand holding your hips which were trying to buck wildly into his hand. “Not so sassy now.”

“Fuck,” you whined. “Oh god, I’m gonna cum.”

“Already? I know I’m good but damn, babe.”

“Oh my God, shutup.”

He curled his fingers, biting down on your neck to leave a mark. He didn’t let up, his fingers pumping into you with expertise. God, he really did know what he was doing. When you’d first laid eyes on him at the bar, you had noticed how nice his hands were and now those long, slender fingers were bringing you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. You felt that familiar feeling pooling, your body tensing signalling that your orgasm was fast approaching just like you’d said. As you were about to cum, he pulled his fingers from you with a shit eating grin.

“See, that’s what happens when you talk back to me,” he clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. He made a show of bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking your juices from his fingers. “Mhm, you taste so good.”

“Thanos.”

“Yeah, Senorita?”

“Come on.”

“I don’t know. You’ve been a sassy little shit. Maybe you should beg for it.” He grabbed your thighs, signalling for you to jump which you did immediately. He carried you to his bedroom. It wasn’t much, pretty bland, actually. A double bed, clothes laid around the place and a few posters here and there. For someone who said he was a rapper, you’d assumed he’d have a big place but this was… small. Maybe he wasn’t all he’d made himself out to be. Not that you cared; after tonight, you’d never see him again.

He threw you down on the bed, laying beside you and pulling you on top of him so you were straddling his lap. “Go on, Senorita, beg for it. Beg for me to fuck you like you want me to and maybe I’ll be kind and give you what you’re craving.”

The urge to roll your eyes was strong but you didn’t, knowing you had to play along to get what you wanted. So, you rolled your hips against his, the friction of his jeans against your panties good but not enough. You could feel him beneath you, hard and ready. It must be killing him to hold back like this. “Thanos, baby, please. Fuck me. I need it so bad. I need you inside me, please.

“That’s a good girl. Not so hard now, was it?” He lifted you off him for a second to pull down his jeans and boxers. His cock sprang up, hard and leaking at the tip. “Go on then. Sit on my dick since you’re so desperate.”

Pushing your panties to the side, you hovered over his cock, gripping him at the base to hold him steady. You positioned him at your entrance, beginning to sink down. The second you felt the tip of his cock breach your entrance, you moaned. He was big, bigger than your ex, that was for damn sure. Once he was fully inside you, he grabbed at your hips, his fingers digging into your skin hard. He hissed, fighting the urge to thrust up into you but before he could, you lifted your hips and slammed back down.

There was nothing gentle about it as you began to bounce on his cock, hard and fast. He slipped out a few times, Thanos having to push himself back inside you. “Fucking hell, princess. You’re so desperate.”

“You’re so deep,” you whined, eyes closing as you focused on the pleasure consuming your entire body. “You feel so good.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to have more so he began to thrust up into you, the sound of your skin smacking together sounding out through the small room. “Yeah, take it, you desperate little thing.”

Holy shit, was this what you’d been missing out on all these years being stuck with your partner? Compared to this, your sex life had been completely boring. The words spilling from Thanos’ mouth were the biggest turn on, the rough way he was grabbing you, giving you exactly what you needed – it was like nothing you’d ever had before.

His hand slid up to your neck, applying a little pressure. Your hips began to falter but that didn’t matter, Thanos was taking the lead now, pounding up into you like a man possessed. The grunts and moans coming from him were making you dizzy… or maybe that was the way he was hammering into you like nobody ever had before. You were definitely going to be sore in the morning but it was so worth it.

“I’m so fuckin’ close, Senorita. Where do you want it?” He grunted.

“Inside me. Please.” You could barely form words at this point, too consumed by the intense feeling of your orgasm nearing. You could feel yourself tightening around his pistoning cock, your hands scrambling for purchase for something to hold on to.

“Dirty girl,” he panted, his fingers around your throat tightening a little. It was one more thrust up into you that triggered both your orgasms. You cried out his name, his hand on your hip holding you still as he emptied himself deep inside you.

As the waves of your release subsided, you collapsed on top of him, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath back. Silence filled the room, only your heavy breaths filling the space. When your brain finally came back to you, you climbed off him, getting to your feet. You scrambled around to find your shirt, Thanos laying on the bed, vape in his hand as he watched you. “Leaving already?”

“Yep,” you said as you pulled on your shirt. “Got a call to make but this was great. See you around, Thanos.”

Before he could even say anything, you were out of the door, your phone in your hand. As you stepped out onto the street, you pulled the card from the pocket of your skirt (a genius invention, if you had to say so) and dialled the number.

That was it. Your fate was sealed.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Gunshots sounded out, ringing through your ears. You had to fight the urge to run for safety but you knew the second you moved, you’d meet your end. So, you stayed still. You were so close to the finish line, just one more sprint and you’d be there. The doll began to sing again and you ran as fast as you could. The second your foot stepped over the white line, you felt like you could breath again. Your heart was pounding in your chest, harder than it ever had. Fear gripped you like never before. What the hell was this place? Why had you made that stupid call? You weren’t this desperate for money.

As you hunched over, bile rising in your stomach, you took a deep breath in. Guns were still firing but you couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t turn around and see all the death and destruction, it would make you spiral and that wasn’t something you could afford right now.

“Senorita!” A familiar voice called out. You stood up, looking to see where it came from but you were engulfed in a hug before you could even register what was happening. You recognised the cologne, the glimpse of purple hair giving away exactly who it was.

“Thanos?!” You asked, shocked.

He pulled back only briefly to look at you but as he did, you noticed the glazed over look in his eyes, the stupid grin on his face. Only a psychopath would be smiling in a situation like this or someone that was on something. Of course he was. “Fancy seeing you here. This must be fate.”

“Or punishment.”

He shushed you, grabbing your face in his hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. And, maybe later we can have a little repeat of last night.”

“How can you even think of that when people are dying?”

“It’s all I can think about.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you’re stuck with me so stick by my side and I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise,” he said fiercely.

As under the influence as he was, there was something about the intense way he was looking at you and the way he’d said those words that made you believe him. If you had to be in this nightmare, at least you had someone on your side and you had a feeling Thanos would be a good ally to have in a place like this.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @str8t2video @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib

#choi su bong x reader #thanos x reader #thanos smut #squid game x reader #choi seunghyun #my fics

207 notes · View notes

brain4stew · 3 days ago

Note

HI im the one who requested puppeteer reade!!! and i want MORE

another kinda short one, idk im a pretty simple creature that likes the idea of puppeteer/controlling thingy characters doing whatever

still with the survivors and killers

puppeteer reader is lagging, basically acting really weird, walking in place, reacting slowly, kind of spinning around (whenever i play forsaken while lagging i spin around for some reason???) and then just suddenly leaving (disconnecting, but they don't gotta know that) for a bit

again, please take ur time with this request!! don't feel obligated to do it if you don't wanna!!!

THE AMOUNT OF LAG I HAVE AS WELL WHEN PLAYING BASICALLY ANYTHING IS INSANE… 💔

BUT YES!! I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO!! 💪🙂‍↕️

(Note; characters may be ooc, as I do not know how they’ll react, move and etc, etc!)

Survivors and killers with a laggy pupeteer reader!!

Chance. 🪙

He doesn’t notice anything at first, but when he randomly stops moving, and can’t move in rounds, he’s confused.

He turns to look at you, and sees you far away, he’s confused, before you randomly teleport to him, which he jumps at. Jesus.

He stares at you blankly for a while, before he sees you walking in place, before… Spinning? Why are you spinning??

He blinks in confusion for a while, before he suddenly dies?? THE KILLER WASNT EVEN NEARBY!!

He looks around for you frantically when in the lobby, looking for you, but you’re not there. You’re gone. Like you vanished.

Then you appear again, with a blue force field, almost like Dusekkar’s. He’s downright confused.

Builderman. 🔨

(headcanon that he knows we’re robloxians, aka real people, due to his status.)

He didn’t notice at first, but when he couldn’t move anymore, he immediately turned around to look at you.

For some reason… You’re spinning…

He’s confused, and was about to go towards you, when you suddenly stop, and walk on your spot, before teleporting near him.

He actually thiught you were using exploits or something, which is against roblox’s policy.

But he eventually figures out it’s due to lag, either your wifi, your ping, or device is bugging out.

He’s not too surprised when he ends up being killed by nothing. He does look around the lobby, not seeing you anywhere.

He assumes that you got kicked, or crashed, which, you did.

When you come back, you have the same force field to prevent taking damage. Which, he assumes you do not exactly need, unless the others (players) have something that can hurt you that is.

Shedletsky. 🍗

(headcanon that he knows we’re robloxians, aka real people, due to his status.)

*cough* fatahh… *cough*

ANYWAY. The same as Builderman, just that he doesn’t notice it, or remember it as well, due to him having to survive his own creation and etc, etc…

He’s arguably very confused why he can’t move, and just, stands there, hoping it’ll be gone after a while.

That is until he sees you teleport in front of him, and he actually flinches for once. But then he sees you walking in place, before spinning.

He’s confused, yeah. He does ask Builderman when he is nearby, about what’s happening.

To which Builderman just says “player”, before continuing with what he was doing. And THAT is when Shedletsky knows what is happening-

He died randomly.

He’s more confused, before looking around for you, not seeing you anywhere.

But when you came back, with a force field, that’s when he recognised that you either got kicked or something.

(It still spooked him a bit however..)

Guest 1337. 🪖

This guy is always on edge, no matter what. He can never let his guard down, unless he actually knows that everything is safe and secure around him.

So when he cannot move, he’s more on edge, and is looking around for the killer, just in case.

But what he sees actually? You walking in place, before teleporting a few times, then spinning…

He’s very confused, watching you for a while, before he suddenly dies for some reason.

He’s shocked and on edge from that unexpected death. He looks around frantically when in the lobby, before relaxing a bit.

He can’t see or find you, but he hopes that you’re safe. (You are ofc.)

So when he sees you again, with a blue force field that resembles Dusekkar’s, he’s relaxing more. Even if he’s still confused about what just happened.

Noob. 🥫 (pretend the can is bloxy cola…)

They don’t know what is happening, but they cannot move.

They assume it is due to their fear, so they try to calm down, but yeah… It’s not their fear.

They’re confused, before they spot you walking in place, before teleporting and spinning for some reason.

They watch for a while, before they suddenly die, and they’re back in the lobby.

They look over themselves in confusion and shock, before looking around for you. They don’t see you or find you anywhere.

They panic, before they see you again after a few seconds or minutes. You have the same force field that Dusekkar makes!

You’re safe now though, so that’s what matters for them!

Two Time. 🗡️

They don’t really care what’s happening.

They do get confused as to why they can’t move however. Did they forget to pray to the spawn?

No, they did before the round!

That is until they see you walking on the spot, before teleporting near them. They flinch of course, because it was unexpected. They then see you spin for a few seconds.

Until they’re suddenly back in the lobby.

…THEY DIDNT EVEN SEE THE KILLER NEARBY??? How did they die?!

They look around, trying to spot you, but they don’t.

Is this punishment from the spawn? Where’d you go?

Until they see you again, with a force field like Dusekkar’s. Oh! Perhaps the divine pumpkin helped you!

They’re glad, but also confused.

Elliot. 🍕

He doesn’t know what to think.

He does notice that he can’t move, which he’s confused about. But, he thinks it’s just his stress.

Then he sees you teleport, which causes him to flinch back. Then you’re walking on spot, before… Spinning? Woaw.

He is confused, but then he suddenly dies.

He’s back in the lobby with confusion, looking around for you, but he can’t find you.

Oh boy, where’d you go?

That is until he sees you again that is, with a force field, that looks like Dusekkar’s.

Well… At least you’re safe! (But not the other survivors…)

Taph. 💥

They’re there to assist, they were about to walk, but uhh… They can’t.

They tilt their head in confusion, and tries again.

Nothing.

He then looks around in confusion, before spotting you walking in place, before teleporting a few times, and spinning.

…Huh? 🤨

Then, he suddenly dies. To say that he’s shocked is an understatement. Holy.

They look around frantically, confused and nervous, what happened? How’d they die when the killer wasn’t nearby?

They look for you, but can’t find you.

So they wait where they are.

Until he sees you again, and he beams at the sight of you again!

He does notice the force field around you, but he thinks that Dusekkar was the one who helped you.

Dusekkar. 💨

(headcanon that he knows we’re robloxians, aka real people, due to his status.)

The pumpkin man.

He tries to float around, to see if he can assist the other survivors from a far.

But… He can’t. He’s confused, and tries again, and again… Before he gives up.

He spots Builderman nearby, and asks him. The response? A single, “Player”, before Builderman leaves.

Dusekkar is confused, before looking at you-

…Oh! So that’s why! Apparently you’re lagging. You’re walking in place, teleporting a few times and even spinning! No wonder-

…How did he die? The killer wasn’t even nearby.

He assumes it is due to you or something.

He looks around for you, but can’t find you.

So he waits.

Until he sees you once again. With a force field around you. Oh so that’s what happened… You got kicked or something… Makes sense now.

007n7. 🍔

(Headcanon that he knows we’re robloxian’s as well, aka real people, due to his previous “work”.)

He doesn’t understand much, he cannot move, nor can he use his gui.

He’s confused. Normally he’d be able to use his gui to teleport and all that… But, he can’t for some reason.

He sighs, and looks around, before spotting you walking in place.

…Oh, that’s why.

He watches as you teleport a few times, even spin a few times too.

Until, he dies randomly. The killer wasn’t nearby at all, yet he still died.

He blinks in confusion, before looking around for you. Lo and behold… You’re nowhere.

So, he waits. Checking his gui for a while, before he spots you again.

You have a force field around you, like Dusekkar’s shield.

Oh, so you disconnected or something! That explains it.

1x1x1x1. (1x4) ⚔️

(Headcanon that they know a little bit about us being robloxian’s, aka real people. Due to Shedletksy.)

They don’t know what is happening, but whatever it is. It is annoying them.

They’ve tried to move, and use their skills. But they can’t.

She growls in frustration and irritation, before glancing around.

That is when she sees you, walking in place, teleporting a few times, and… Spinning…

He thinks he knows what’s happening, but he’s unsure.

That is until he ends up… DEAD?!

She blinks in confusion and irritation. How. How could she die?! She has lots of health for crying out loud! And no stunner was nearby either to cause pain to her!

She looks around immediately with anger, trying to find and spot you, but you’re gone.

They huff, and stand where they are. They are not moving from their spot until they see you again.

And they do, they spot you beside them, with a.. Force field… It reminds them of that shield Dusekkar makes..

He eventually recognises it. So that’s why… He thinks it is due to lag, but he cannot be too sure.

John Doe. 1️⃣0️⃣0️⃣0️⃣1️⃣1️⃣

He’s quite irritated, when he knows he can’t move.

Hell, he can’t even use his skills.

Just what happened…

He glances around in irritation, before his eyes land on you.

You’re walking in place… before you suddenly teleport, and spin around for a while.

He watches of course, confused and slightly amused.

That is until he randomly dies that is. Oh boy, he’s mad.

No stunners were nearby either. He couldn’t have taken damage at all, yet he did. All his health. Depleted within a nanosecond… He has lots of health…

He looks around with a glare, trying to find and spot you, but he doesn’t. Only intensifying his anger and annoyance.

He waits of course, and sees you again, with a force field, which reminds him of Dusekkar’s…

Perhaps he should kill that pumpkin guy first next round.

C00lkidd, Bluudud, Pr33typrincess, Mafioso. 🧱

None of them knows what’s happening, and why they can’t move.

The ones who are most annoyed by this are C00lkidd, Mafioso and Bluudud.

Pr33typrincess doesn’t really care not moving.

But none of them can use their skills, which… Irritates them.

They do look around, before spotting you… Walking in place?

Mafioso thinks it is to trick the survivors, but oh he’s so wrong.

When you randomly teleport a few times, and spin around, they’re more confused.

Until they die.

Sure, they have low health and can be killed with coordination and all that… But… NONE of the stunners were mearby! So how did they die?!

They look around again, not spotting you anywhere. So, they wait. (The kids bickering with each other of course, while Mafioso is just… Well… Mafioso.)

They then see you again, with a force fueld around you. They’re confused, because they only know that Dusekkar can make such shield thing.

But they assume it is just a coincidence.

Noli. 👾

(Headcanon that he knows we’re robloxian’s as well, aka real people, due to his previous “work”.)

He can’t move.

He can’t use his skills… But he can look around…

What is happening?

He’s confused, of course, because, why can’t he move or use his skills? But he can look around?

He looks around, before spotting you walking in place, teleporting a few times and even spinning sometimes.

Ohhhh…. lag… His favorite friend… /hj

Then he suddenly dies.

He blinks in confusion and shock. He has high health, no? And the stunners weren’t even nearby…

So how…

He looks around for you, but you’re nowhere to be found. Oh boy…

He waits for you of course, checking his voidstar once in a while out of boredom.

Then, he sees you again, with a force field around you.

Ah, kick or disconnection… Gotcha…

Azure. 🪻

They don’t really mind what they are doing. Killing or not, they do not mind at all.

But when they cannot move, let alone use their skills, they’re a bit spooked.

They glance around, they check their tendrils. Their tendrils are fine, but why can’t they-

That’s when they see you randomly teleport, walking in place, spinning and all that.

They blink in confusion, and was about to move a hand towards you.

Before he somehow died.

…Does he not have lots of health? What happened?? No stunners were nearby. Not even Two Time was near him as far as he knows.

So how did…?

He looks around, looking for you. Before walking around the lobby, looking and searching for you.

But you’re nowhere. Well… That means he can take care of his garden for a bit until you come back right?

He waits for you whilst tending to his garden, before he sees a force field, reminding him of Dusekkar’s shield.

They stand up and go to look, and there they see you.

With a force field around you.

But hey, at least you’re okay, right? That’s what matters!

Guest 666. 👹

They don’t know what they’re doing and all that. What they know is that they like to chase.

So, when they cannot move? Or use their skills? Oh, they’re confused alright.

So what do they do? They were originally about to slam their fists against the ground, but then they saw you.

You? Of course you… Walking in place, teleporting and spinning.

Just what was happening and going on inside your head?

They watch for a while, before it goes dark, and they’re in the lobby again.

They blink in confusion and shock, before they look around frantically.

They walk and run around, searching for you. But you’re nowhere.

They then decide to lay down and take a small nap, where they were, when they came back to the lobby.

They’re then forced to slide a bit away after a while, by what? A force field.

They were originally about to whack it, but, they saw you in it.

You’re safe and alright! …NOW GET THIS FORCE FIELD AWAY! IT REMINDS THEM OF DUSEKKAR!! >:(

A/N: 1 more request to go, and I’ll open my request again, ONLY for talking. I am not writing for forsaken x reader after I’m done with the last request I have. Why? Due to the toxicity from anonymous people.

178 notes · View notes

satorusweetheart · 1 day ago

Text

since my beautiful bbg @sqwidgurl asked for some toji i thought why not

toji was a simple kind of man, even predictable. he was always on the look for the his next fix— his next rush of adrenaline. he’d patrol the bars, the racetracks, college parties looking for something, or someone, to make his blood pump.

that’s when he spots you. seemingly naive, standing across the room like a baby deer unaware there’s a hunter hiding in the woods, riffle aimed to your heart. he couldn’t resist it, he had to have you, had to slip you into the bathroom and show you what a good time was. he needed to feel you claw at your back, begging for more, splitting open on his cock.

so that’s what toji did, snaking through the crowd, using his charm to lure you in. a smile, brushing your hair to the side, telling you how you stood out in such an overcrowded room. when you admit to him you hadn’t so much kissed a guy before, that’s when you had unknowing sealed the deal.

you found yourself in the bathroom, letting his fingers dip into your little cunt. his breath was on your neck as your bare ass pressed against the cold countertop. you gasp in the way he touches you, lighting your skin on fire.

“if ya can’t even handle my fingers how the hell do ya think you’re gonna take my dick?” he grunts, feeling how you clamp down on him, his rough fingers finding just the right spot. he smiles when you tell him you can do it— you’ll be a good girl for him. it almost makes him let out a pitiful laugh.

“oh yeah?” his smirk glows. “prove it.”

166 notes · View notes

satoruslovey · 3 days ago

Text

*ੈ✩˚Sukuna×wife!reader ₊˚⊹ᰔ

In which the king of curses answers all the questions about his appearance which his pretty little wife is curious about

Sunlight pours in through the tall windows in slanted lines, gilding the dark wood floors in gold. The scent of incense curls through the air,faintly floral, warm. It’s quiet. Still. No curses clawing at the gates. No sorcerers to dismember. No blood. No chaos. Just peace, rare and almost too fragile for a place like this.

And in the heart of that stillness lies him, Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses. Slayer of Thousands. Terror of the Heian Era.

No one really knows how someone like you ended up with him.Perhaps,no one would dare to question,not when they know he walks beside you like a living calamity, draped in silk and menace -- in all his glory.

But when he rests his head in your lap, eyes closed, breath steady,

you think the answer might be simple-

he lets you stay.

And more than that

he listens.

"Hmm...I was thinking about something Ryo", you say softly,as you comb your fingers through his hair.

One of his four eyes peek open as it looks up at you,

"What is it woman?" He says

"your hair...do you dye it?" You ask, gentle amused.

"it's natural" he says.

“Burn the ends sometimes,” he admits, begrudgingly. “Makes it darker.”

You hum. “So you do cursed hair rituals. You're adorable.”

"You’re insufferable.”

Still, he doesn’t move. His head remains pillowed on your thighs like it was made to be there.

You reach down to brush a finger along the edge of the hard plate which lays on his face , covering his cheek and eyes,

“And this? Demon jewelry? Ancient warlord fashion?”

"Cursed armor, it's bound to me".

"Very on brand for you, I must say" you tease,

"you're getting brave"

"am I? will you do something about it?"

His jaw flexes as he says, "you wanna find out?"

All he receives is another giggle,

"alright, now tell me, why have I never seen you with a beard? Don't you grow one?",

He doesn’t open his eyes. Just exhales through his nose like you’ve asked the most offensive question imaginable.

“Because I shave,” he mutters.

“You shave? Like… regularly?”

“Do you think my face stays smooth by divine will alone?”

You blink. Then grin.

“Honestly, yes.”

"shut up"

“Fine, fine,” you say, running a finger along the markings on his chest. “These? Tattoos. Are they real?”

“Those are my markings,some are carved. Some were born with me. Some are my power.”

You blink, "you carved them yourself?"

"mmm, no one else was worthy enough to touch me"he grumbles.

"so dramatic"

"Okay what about your hair cut? Who cuts it? Do you go to like a cursed salon,can I come next tim-"

His eyes snap open,all four of them. Sharp. Burning.

“That’s it.” His voice is low, dangerous, and entirely too calm. “Enough questions, woman.”

You grin like you’ve won something. “Aw, did I reach the limit?”

“You passed it. Three questions ago.”

“But you were answering.”

“I was tolerating. There’s a difference.”

He shifts,sudden, fluid, and predatory,until it’s you on your back, and he’s above you now, eyes narrowed like a storm about to break.

“And now,” he murmurs, voice a velvet threat, “you’re going to be quiet.”

You blink up at him, smiling sweetly.

“What if I’m not?”

He bares his teeth.

“Then I’ll give you something better to do with that mouth.”

Yeah that's enough questions for today. Not that you would mind-

A/n- These are questions I would personally ask him , it's 4 am I need to sleep, but tell me how this is?🧍🏻‍♀️also this isn't edited-

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #sukuna x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna drabble #jjk #sukuna fic

258 notes · View notes

sturniqlo · 2 days ago

Text

matt and darling go to a wedding

pairing: shy!matt x shy!reader

summary: matt takes darling to his cousins wedding, meaning she'll be meeting his extended family

cw: anxiety, fluff

an: i missed my favorites (also, i changed matt's parents' name) this fic takes place when darling and matt have been dating for almost a year

masterlist | shy!matt x shy!reader | taglist

------------------------------------------------

"well, what about this dress?" darling nervously bites at her bottom lip as she holds up a light pink dress to her body. matt, who's sitting on her looks at the dress and nods. "it's pretty—" matt begins to say, but she cuts him off. "ughh, but it kinda looks like it's white!" she groans and tosses it to the dress pile that has begun to form on her floor.

"matt, i don't think i can go." she pouts and crawls into his lap. "why not, darling? all of those dresses were beautiful, and would look even more beautiful on you." he pulls back to look at her face and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "but they're not the dress, babe." her eyes begin to gloss over. "hey, hey, hey. it's okay, yeah? i really want you to go, but if you don't feel comfortable i won't force you." he kisses her forehead. "no, no, i really do want to go. but, i— ughh. i hate this!" she groans and throws her face into his neck.

"look at me, darling." he says softly. "hm?" she hums and pulls away, the pout still on her face and matt just wants to kiss it off. "let's keep looking, yeah? you've got so many other pretty dresses." he pats her hip. "okay, you'll help me, right?" she toys with the necklace on his chest that matches hers. "of course i will." he finally pecks her lips.

after many more dresses and a couple of tears shed, darling and matt finally chose the dress. it was a simple sage colored silk dress. it accentuated her curves and made her eyes pop. matt threw his suit on once she had started on her hair and makeup, "baby, what shade would look better? this one? or— this one?" darling held up two tubes of lips gloss. "umm," matt looked at one bottle first and then her lips, and then the dress and did the same for the next bottle. "that one." he point to the right one.

once they were both ready to go, darling grabbed her shoulder bag and threw in a few makeup supplies, gum, and her phone. "ready?" matt came up behind her and hugged her waist, kissing her cheek. "mhm, i'm ready." she smiled at him. "you look really good in this." she said, turning around to face him, and she gently tugged on the jacket. "thank you, darling. you look very gorgeous."

in the car, matt's hand was on her thigh for the whole hour and forty minute drive to the wedding venue, which happened to be on his grandparents' land. and from the pictures matt had shown her, it was absolutely beautiful! when matt's dad had asked matt's grandpa for his permission to marry his daughter, obviously he had said yes, and he built the barn like reception building for her. and since then, every wedding in matt's family was on his grandparents' land.

and for a second, darling imagined if her and matt's wedding would be there as well.

"pretty, we're here." darling felt a series of kisses planted on her cheek and nose. she squirmed in her seat and opened her eyes to see matt standing next to outside of the car. "we're here?" her voice full of sleep. matt chuckled. "mhm, and we're a bit early, too. not many people here yet." he said, as she unbuckled herself and stretched. once she stepped out of the car, she looked around the makeshift parking lot, which was just gravel and supposedly the driveway from what matt had told her, and there were less than ten cars.

"i think they're still setting up." matt closed the door behind her and grabbed her hand as he led the way. "are your parents and nick 'nd chris here, yet?" she asked since she didn't see the family car in the lot. "yeah, they are. their car is just pulled up to the barn since my mom brought some decorations." he swung their hands. darling looked around the land and noticed the house nearby, another mini house which matt had told her was used as storage, and towards the end near a small pond was the barn. outside of there were chairs set up and a makeshift arch filled with flowers. it was very beautiful.

"it's cute around here. did you spend a lot of time here?" she asked him and they continued their slow walk. "mhm, me, chris, nick, and the rest of our cousins liked to spend our summer here. there used to be a tire swing over by that tree," he pointed to a tall tree near the barn. "but, my cousin, rick, he pushed chris too hard that the rope ripped. we were all like fifteen when that happened and grandpa didn't wanna fix it anymore, said the tire was too old already. but when my older cousins started having kids, he put a new one in and reinstalled the old playground too."

she smiled at the thought that matt's family was huge and all very close with each other. darling has never really experienced such a bond with her extended family. both pairs of her grandparents had unfortunately passed away in her early years of life. and her most of her aunts and uncles had problems with her parents, meaning she also had no close bond with her cousins. however, she had two loyal aunts, one on each side, who she'd see often and hang out with those cousins. "that's so sweet, babe." she grinned up at matt who blushed.

once they reached the barn, matt's mom and dad were both coming out at the same time. "hey you two!" matt's mom, kate, gasped when she saw her son and daughter-in-law, she loved to call darling that. "hey, mom." matt gave her a hug. and matt's dad, mark, came up to you and hugged you. "hey, kiddo." he said to darling. "hi mark, looking fancy." darling said as she pulled away, and kate came right away to her and hugged her. "you two look very fancy as well." mark said to both darling and matt. "kate, you look amazing! i love this color on you!" darling complimented her as mark and matt went into their own conversation. "really? thank you, hon! i tried something new! but look at you! you're so gorgeous, darling!" darling was pulled in for another hug.

kate and mark had to run into the main house for a couple of things leaving darling and matt alone again— just for a couple of seconds until they both heard chris' call out. "look at mr. fancy pants over here!" chris said as he and nick approached the two to them. "shut up." matt mumbled. "and mrs. fancy dress over here." chris said giving darling a side hug and then matt. "girl, you look so good!" nick said her giving her a hug.

nick and chris eventually went their own ways when they saw two of their cousins, which darling has met before when the group had gone bowling during spring break. "is that my matt?" darling and matt heard a voice. the both of them turned around as it was an older woman. "grandma!" matt said, a grin appeared on his face. from what matt told darling, he was the closest one to his grandma. "oh wow, this must be the girl you've been gushing about!" his grandma, alison, smiled at you. "oh she is, this is darling! darling, this is my grandma!" he introduced the both. "hello, it's nice to meet you." darling said shyly, sticking out her hand, but alison chuckled and pulled her in for a hug.

"it's nice to finally meet you after all this time!" alison said. "i've heard so much about you, darling." she said once they pulled back and darlings face was blushing. "matt, have you shown her around the land?" alison asked. "somewhat, just the barn as of now. i'll probably show her later during the party." alison hummed at matt's answer. "well, it was finally nice to meet you, but i've gotta check on bridezilla and make sure she hasn't pulled at anyone's hair." the three of them laughed and alison waved goodbye. "she was so sweet, i see why you're so close to her." matt blushes once more. "you did so great, darling. i told you everything was going to be fine." he places a kiss on her forehead.

since the ceremony wasn't for another hour, matt decided to show her around the land more since they had time. "i'd show you the main house, but i'm pretty sure it's hectic in there right now with everyone getting ready. so, let's go to my favorite part." matt held her hand and walked her to a small bridge that was over the small pond. "oh, this is cute!" darling gasped when she saw how decorated the pond was and how there was fishes in the pond as well. "yeah, my grandpa come out here every morning to feed 'em and add some more decorations my grandma finds." matt leaned against the raining. "it's my favorite spot because you can see everything from over here, but it's also kinda hidden."

"how often would you come to the bridge?" darling ran her hand up and down his arm. "literally everytime i would come over and stay the night. if i were staying for the summer, i would come here for an hour. grandma says that when nick, chris or any of my other cousins would ask for me, she would say im in my 'matt hour' and to leave me alone. they'd never listen and come bug me anyway." he chuckles at the memories and wraps his arm around her waist. "how're you liking it so far? i know you haven't met many people." matt presses a kiss to her hair.

"i like it here, actually. it's very pretty and peaceful out here. and i'm still kinda nervous to meet others." she looks up at him. "well, my grandma loves you already, i'd say you'll be fine." he smiles.

when the guest began to start arriving and taking their seat in the rows, darling and matt had ventured to get a good spot. on the way there, darling met matt's grandpa, paul, and all of matt's older cousins along with their spouses and children. and luckily, the meetings had all went very well. when the two got seats, darling let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in. "you okay?" matt draped his arm over the back of her chair. "mhm, just happy everything is going well so far, everyone is so nice. especially your grandparents, i see where your dad gets it from." matt nods. "all you have left are a few cousins, and my aunts and uncles."

the ceremony was absolutely beautiful, that darling shed a few tears during it. matt's cousin, marley, looked like a princess in her white wedding dress. darling just loves love. during the ceremony she didn't meet anyone else as they were sat next to matt's parents and brothers and family that belonged to the groom, which meant matt didn't know who they were either.

the guest had made their way into the barn as marley and the bridesmaids went back into the main house so she'd change into her reception dress. "that's is our table over there—" matt's hand was on darlings lower back when someone called out matt's name. "matt, long time no see." it was matt's uncle, bryan, who was also the brides dad. he was standing next to his wife giselle, the mother of the bride. "is this who i think it is?" giselle gasped.

darling had the first and only girl matt has ever brought to meet the family. when the word had gotten around that matt was seeing darling, it came as a shock to everyone because he had never dated anyone. "guys, this is my girlfriend, darling." his hand sat on her lower back. the conversation was cut short due to the dj announcing that the newlyweds were about to make their entrance.

sometime during the reception, darling got up to get a refill on her drink when someone tapped her shoulder. she turned around and saw that it was marley, the bride. "darling right?" she said. "yeah, yeah that's me." darling said shyly. "oh wow! it's so nice to finally meet you." she pulled her in for a hug. "it's nice to meet you too, you're wedding is so beautiful. you looked so pretty in your dress." darling told her. "thank you so much! i'm so glad you were able to come with matt! the whole family has been dying to meet you, darling!"

matt soon came out of the bathroom and spotted darling and marley right away. darling looked to be comfortable in the conversation with his cousin, so he decided to head back to their table and not interrupt the conversation. soon, darling returned with a soft smile on her face and a refilled cup in her hand. "saw you with marley," matt started and rested his arm on the back of her chair. "how was that?" he asked, rubbing her shoulder. "it was good, and like everyone else she was really sweet." darling rested her head on matt's shoulder.

"told you, you had nothing to worry about. i think i've talked about you enough that they didn't even have to meet you to love you." he kissed her hair. "thank you for bringing me here."

"of course. i brought you to meet the rest of my family because i believed and you are forever. you're stuck with me now." he smiled.

242 notes · View notes

lila-lou · 3 days ago

Text

✨Twenty-One - 1/4✨

Summary: You thought this trip was just a chance to unwind — until the door opened and Jensen Ackles was standing there, larger than life and way too real. Now you're spending your birthday week in his house, trying not to lose your mind over your childhood crush who, somehow, keeps looking at you like you’re not just some kid anymore.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, kinda immoral

Word Count: 6636

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

AJ grinned as she rang the doorbell, clearly excited about your reaction to this trip. You, on the other hand, felt your stomach twist into knots. It wasn’t every day you were about to meet Jensen Ackles—a man you had grown up admiring, crushing on, and now, somehow, about to spend time with in the flesh.

The door swung open faster than you expected, and there he was.

Jensen Ackles stood in the doorway, casual yet effortlessly attractive in a plain t-shirt and jeans, his green eyes warm but curious as they landed on you. His light brown hair was slightly messy, like he’d just run his hand through it.

“Hey, kiddo”, he greeted AJ with a grin, pulling her into a quick hug before turning his attention to you. “And you must be Y/N. Heard a lot about you”.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. He heard about you? You barely managed to return his smile without looking like a total idiot.

“Uh—yeah. That’s me. Y/N”, you said awkwardly, cursing yourself immediately for sounding like a socially inept robot.

AJ laughed and nudged your side. “She’s just nervous. Big fan and all”.

Your eyes widened as you turned to glare at her, mentally screaming. She wasn’t supposed to say that! That was the last thing you wanted him to know.

Jensen chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Oh yeah?”, he teased, clearly amused. “Supernatural fan?”.

You swallowed hard. “Uhm—yeah. I mean—kinda”.

His smirk deepened, and you knew he knew. “Well, that’s good. At least you won’t be completely freaked out staying here for the week”.

You blinked. Wait, what?

AJ turned to you with a wide grin. “Yeah, forgot to mention that part. We´re staying here. Dad’s got plenty of space, and this way, we don’t have to waste money on a hotel”.

Your mouth went dry. A whole week… in Jensen Ackles’ house?

Jensen patted your shoulder lightly, the simple touch making your skin tingle. “Make yourself at home, Y/N”, he said, his voice smooth and warm. “It’s gonna be fun”.

And just like that, your already dangerous crush on him? It just got a hundred times worse.

As AJ disappeared into the kitchen, already rummaging through the fridge like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did—you found yourself alone with Jensen.

He smiled down at you, his green eyes studying you with an easy warmth. “So, you and AJ met at the shelter, huh?”, he asked, leading you through the house at a relaxed pace.

You nodded, still feeling slightly on edge just being here. “Yeah, about a year ago. I worked there while studying, and AJ came in for her internship”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “That sounds like her. Always wanting to do a little bit of everything”. His voice was deep and smooth, the kind of voice that could make reading a grocery list sound interesting.

“Yeah”, you agreed softly. “She’s… definitely a lot more outgoing than me”.

He glanced at you, his expression turning thoughtful. “Not a bad thing”, he said, stopping at the base of the staircase. “Sometimes, the quiet ones have the most to say. Just takes the right person to listen”.

Your stomach flipped at his words. Did he just say something that deep… about you? Before you could even think of a response, he motioned toward the stairs. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying”.

You followed him up, trying your best not to let your eyes wander, except that was nearly impossible. The man was built like a damn Greek god. Broad shoulders, muscular back, those strong arms… it should’ve been illegal for someone to look that good in just a t-shirt.

“This is you”, Jensen said, pushing open a door at the end of the hall. The room was spacious but cozy, with a queen-sized bed, a soft gray comforter, and a window that overlooked the backyard.

“Wow”, you breathed, stepping inside. “This is… really nice”.

Jensen leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Good. I want you to feel comfortable here. And if AJ gets too annoying, you can always escape in here”.

You smiled at that, your nerves easing slightly. “Thanks. That’s… really nice of you”.

He tilted his head, watching you. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, right?”.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Uh—yeah. How’d you know?”.

Jensen smirked. “AJ’s been talking about it for weeks”. He pushed off the doorframe, his presence effortlessly commanding even in such a relaxed stance. “We’ll have to do something special”.

Your heart skipped a beat. Jensen Ackles wanted to do something for your birthday?

Before you could embarrass yourself by overthinking, AJ’s voice called from downstairs. “Dad! You seriously have nothing good to eat! What kind of house is this?”.

Jensen sighed, shaking his head as he turned. “Guess I need to feed the gremlin before she starves”.

You let out a soft laugh, watching as he walked away. As soon as he was gone, you flopped onto the bed, face-first, groaning into the pillow.

A whole week here. With him. You were so screwed.

You had barely kicked off your shoes and sat up when Jensen’s deep voice echoed from downstairs. “Y/N! What do you want to eat?”.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. He was asking you? Like, personally? Not just assuming you’d go along with whatever AJ wanted?

You scrambled to the doorway, hesitating before calling back, “Uh—whatever’s fine! I’m not picky!”.

There was a pause, then his voice came again, closer this time. “That’s not an answer, kid”.

Your stomach flipped at the nickname. Not that it was unusual, he probably called people around AJ´s age “kid” all the time, but coming from him? It did something to you.

You took a deep breath, stepping out of your room and heading toward the stairs. “Um… pizza?”.

Jensen appeared at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at you with an amused smirk. “There. Was that so hard?”.

Your face burned as you shrugged. “I just—didn’t want to be a bother”.

He scoffed. “You’re staying in my house, Y/N. You better tell me what you want to eat. I don’t need you passing out on me”.

AJ suddenly popped out from behind him, a bag of chips in hand. “Yeah, trust me, Dad. Y/N gets all quiet when she’s hungry. It’s creepy”.

You rolled your eyes. “I do not”.

“She totally does”, AJ confirmed, shoving a chip in her mouth. “She’s like a little sad puppy until she eats”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled his phone out. “Alright, pizza it is. Any topping requests?”.

You hesitated for half a second, but AJ was already answering for you. “She loves pepperoni and extra cheese”.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. “That true?”.

You nodded, feeling oddly exposed by how well AJ knew you. “Yeah”.

Jensen grinned, nodding as he scrolled on his phone. “Good choice. You and I are gonna get along just fine, Y/N”.

You swallowed hard at that, ignoring the way your heart did a weird little flip. Get it together. He was just being nice. Like a dad.

AJ, of course, wasn’t about to let you off the hook. “She’s also a total freak about garlic bread”.

Jensen looked up, amused. “Oh yeah?”.

AJ nodded, grinning like she had just exposed your deepest secret. “Like, I swear she’d marry a loaf of it if she could”.

You groaned, covering your face. “AJ, shut up”.

Jensen just chuckled, already adding it to the order. “Alright, garlic bread for the birthday girl”.

Your stomach twisted. Oh. Right. He knew.

It wasn’t that you hated birthdays, but growing up, they were never big for you. No extravagant parties, no expensive gifts, just a simple cake, maybe a dinner if money allowed. So hearing Jensen Ackles, the man you had crushed on for years, say it so casually? It felt… weird.

Nice. But weird.

“AJ mentioned you’re turning 21”, Jensen said, locking his phone and glancing at you. “Big milestone. We should do something fun”.

AJ perked up. “Oh! Can we take her out?”.

You froze. “Wait, what?”.

AJ turned to you, practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, it’s your 21st birthday. We have to do something! A bar, a club, something!”.

Jensen smirked, crossing his arms. “You’re still eighteen, AJ. You’re not going anywhere”.

AJ groaned dramatically. “Ugh, technicalities”.

You, on the other hand, were too focused on the part where Jensen was apparently planning your birthday now. “I—I don’t know”, you stammered, suddenly nervous. “I hadn’t really planned anything. It’s not a big deal”.

Jensen scoffed. “Yeah, not happening. You only turn 21 once”.

AJ gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Ooooh, Dad, you should take her out!”.

Your entire body went stiff. “What?!”.

Jensen just raised an eyebrow at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “Uh…”.

AJ clapped her hands together, already hyping herself up. “Yes! Think about it. You know all the cool places, she’s never been to LA before, and she needs to live a little! It’s perfect”.

You opened your mouth to protest, because what the hell was she even suggesting?!, but Jensen only chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… guess I don’t mind playing chaperone for the night”.

AJ grinned at you. “See? Perfect”.

You stared at her, absolutely betrayed. “AJ, what are you doing?”, you whispered, mentally panicking.

She just smirked. “Giving you the best birthday ever, duh”.

Jensen stretched, cracking his neck. “Alright, pizza should be here soon. You two go set the table or something”.

You barely registered his words. Your brain was too busy spiraling. Because tomorrow night? You were going out. With Jensen Ackles.

You grabbed a couple of napkins, setting them next to the paper plates while AJ plopped down on the couch, watching you with a mischievous grin. “We need to doll you up”, she declared, tossing a napkin onto the table.

You groaned, already knowing where this was going. “AJ—”

“I’m serious!”, she cut in, sitting up and pointing at you. “You’re so pretty, but you always dress so… lamely”.

Your face heated up. “I do not”.

AJ gave you a look. “Y/N, I love you, but your entire wardrobe is, like, neutral colors and jeans. Do you even own a dress?”.

You hesitated. “…Maybe”.

AJ gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, maybe?!”.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Not all of us have unlimited shopping sprees, AJ”.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Money has nothing to do with it! You just need to, like… embrace your hotness”.

You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”.

AJ grinned. “Dude, you’re gorgeous. But you hide behind all these boring clothes and oversized hoodies”. She wiggled her eyebrows. “And since you’re spending your birthday night out with my dad, we need to upgrade your look”.

You froze. “AJ, it’s not like that—”.

“Oh, please”, She smirked. “Dad’s gonna be in full ‘protective mode’, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look hot”.

Your face felt like it was on fire. “AJ, I am not dressing up just to—”.

“Too late”, she sang, already pulling out her phone. “We’re raiding my closet after dinner. I have so many things that’ll look amazing on you”.

You sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “You’re really set on this, huh?”.

AJ grinned. “Absolutely”.

Before you could protest again, the doorbell rang.

“Pizza’s here!”, Jensen’s voice came from the hallway.

AJ clapped her hands, jumping up. “Saved by the pizza. But don’t think I’m letting this go”.

You groaned, running a hand down your face as she skipped off to the door. Tomorrow night was going to be a disaster.

Dinner had been surprisingly easygoing. A lot of small talk, mostly AJ dominating the conversation while you and Jensen occasionally chimed in. He was easy to talk to—casual, funny, even a little sarcastic—but still, every time he looked at you, you felt hyperaware of yourself. Like he could see right through your nervous energy.

But then, once the pizza was mostly gone, Jensen leaned back in his chair, stretching a little before fixing you with a serious look. “Alright, birthday girl”, he started, “if we’re going out tomorrow, we gotta set some ground rules”.

You straightened slightly, feeling weirdly like a teenager getting lectured by a parent. “Rules?”.

Jensen nodded. “Yeah. First off, no posting about it online. I’m not super hounded by paparazzi, but I also don’t need some rando snapping pics of me in a club with a 21-year-old and spinning it into some weird-ass headline”.

That… made sense. You hadn’t even thought about that. You nodded. “Yeah, of course”.

“Second”, he continued, taking a sip of his beer, “I’m picking the club. I know a few spots that are discreet. Last thing you need is to deal with a bunch of drunk superfans losing their minds because they recognize me”.

You swallowed. Right. Because he was Jensen freaking Ackles. Just because he was so casual about it didn’t change the fact that millions of people worshipped him.

“And third…”. He hesitated for a second, then smirked slightly. “Look, I know you’re young, but just—don’t do anything stupid. Don’t disappear, don’t take drinks from strangers, and for the love of God, don’t hook up with some dude in the club bathroom”.

You nearly choked on your drink. “Jensen!”.

AJ screamed from across the couch, doubling over in laughter. “OH MY GOSH. AS IF”, She was gasping between giggles. “Dad, she’s—she’s the biggest virgin ever”.

Your eyes widened in horror. “AJ, what the hell?!”.

Jensen, to his credit, just raised an eyebrow, looking highly amused. “That so?”, he mused, taking another sip of beer.

You covered your face with both hands. This was not happening.

AJ was still cackling. “I swear! She’s like, scared of flirting. It’s adorable”.

You groaned, wanting to sink into the floor. “Oh my God, can we not talk about this?”.

Jensen smirked. “Alright, alright. No judgment, kid”.

The way he said it, so damn casually, made your stomach do something stupid. Like he wasn’t laughing at you, just… observing.

AJ wiped tears from her eyes, still giggling. “I love this. This is the best day ever”.

You glared at her. “You’re the worst”.

She just grinned. “And yet, you love me”.

Jensen shook his head, still looking entertained. “Alright, enough embarrassing Y/N for one night”. He pushed up from his chair, stretching. “I’m heading to bed. You two don’t stay up all night”.

AJ saluted dramatically. “Yes, Dad”.

You were still burning with embarrassment as Jensen walked past, clapping your shoulder lightly. “Don’t let her bully you too much, kid”. And with that, he was gone, leaving you a mess on the couch while AJ kept laughing.

The next day passed in a blur. You had tried to distract yourself, watching movies with AJ, helping clean up the kitchen, and avoiding thinking too hard about the fact that tonight, you’d be going out with Jensen.

But, of course, AJ had other plans. “Alright, birthday girl”, she announced, throwing open her closet doors dramatically. “Time for your transformation”.

You sighed, standing near the doorway. “I don’t need a transformation, AJ”.

She turned to you, hands on her hips, like a mom about to scold her child. “Yes, you do. You’re turning twenty-one. You’re going out for the first time. You are not—I repeat, NOT—going in your usual boring outfit”.

You huffed. “It’s not boring. It’s just comfortable”.

AJ gave you a look. “We are not prioritizing comfort tonight. We are prioritizing hotness”.

You groaned. “AJ…”.

She ignored you, already digging through hangers, tossing options onto her bed. “We need something sexy but not too much. Hot, but classy. Like… ‘Oops, I didn’t mean to be this attractive, but here we are’”.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s… weirdly specific”.

AJ gasped suddenly, pulling out a sleek, form-fitting black dress. “This. This is it”.

Your eyes widened. “AJ, that’s… tiny”.

She scoffed. “It’s not tiny, it’s perfect. Try it on”.

You hesitated, but one look at AJ’s dead serious expression told you there was no way out of this. Fine. You grabbed the dress and disappeared into the bathroom. When you slipped it on, you barely recognized yourself. It hugged your body in all the right ways, the hem stopping mid-thigh, the neckline just low enough to be dangerous. You stared at your reflection, heart pounding. Was this really you?

“Are you done yet?!”, AJ’s voice called impatiently.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out.

AJ’s jaw dropped. “FUCKING. SHIT”.

Your face burned. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”.

AJ shook her head so fast you thought she might get whiplash. “Too much?! No, this is—this is perfect. Like, I almost want to cry. My little Y/N is finally embracing her hotness”.

You groaned. “Please stop talking”.

She ignored you, circling around like she was inspecting her masterpiece. “You’ve been hiding this under your oversized hoodies all this time?”. She gasped.

Before you could argue, a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Jensen’s voice came through. “You two ready yet?”.

Your stomach twisted into a knot at the sound of Jensen’s voice. Ready? That was debatable. AJ, of course, had no hesitation. She threw open the door, revealing Jensen standing in the hallway, dressed in a fitted black button-up with the sleeves rolled up just enough to ruin your life.

His gaze landed on you—and froze.

For the briefest second, you swore you saw his breath hitch. His eyes flickered down, taking in the dress, the way it hugged your figure, and then just as quickly, he cleared his throat, looking away.

“Well, damn”, he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “You clean up nice”.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to act normal. “Uh… thanks”.

AJ, meanwhile, was beaming like she had just won the lottery. “Told you she looked hot”.

Jensen shot her a look. “Alright, that’s enough”.

AJ just laughed, linking her arm with yours and dragging you down the hallway. “Come on, let’s eat. You can’t party on an empty stomach”.

Dinner was surprisingly… nice.

Jensen took you both to a quiet restaurant, low lighting, a cozy atmosphere, nothing too fancy, but still nice. AJ did most of the talking (as always), but you couldn’t help but notice the way Jensen would glance at you every now and then.

Little things—making sure you liked your food, refilling your drink before you even realized it was low. It wasn’t anything obvious, but it made your stomach flutter all the same.

When dinner wrapped up, Jensen tossed his credit card on the table before you or AJ could even pretend to argue.

AJ stretched dramatically. “Alright, time to go. Birthday girl has a club to get to”. You paused. Right. The plan. Jensen was dropping AJ off at home first, then… then it was just you and him. Alone. In a club.

By the time you pulled up to AJ’s house, she was already half-asleep in the backseat.

Jensen shifted the car into park and looked back at her. “Alright, kiddo, inside you go”.

AJ blinked groggily. “Ugh. Fine”. Then she turned to you, smirking just enough to let you know she was still AJ. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do”.

You rolled your eyes. “Which is…?”.

She grinned. “Nothing. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do”.

Jensen groaned. “Out. Now”.

AJ laughed, hopping out of the car. “Love you both! Don’t be lame!”.

And just like that, it was just you and Jensen. The car was suddenly too quiet.

Jensen exhaled, gripping the wheel for a second before looking over at you. “You ready for this?”.

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. “Yeah. You?”.

He smirked, shifting the car into drive. “Let’s find out”.

The drive to the club was quiet, but not exactly uncomfortable. Just… charged.

Jensen had one hand on the wheel, his other resting casually on the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly as he drove. The streetlights cast quick flashes of gold across his face, highlighting his sharp jawline, the slight crease in his brow.

You, on the other hand, were trying not to lose your mind.

It wasn’t like this was a date, not even close, but the fact that you were alone with Jensen Ackles, dressed like this, going out for your birthday… it felt like something you shouldn’t even allow yourself to overthink.

But, of course, you were overthinking it anyway. After a moment, Jensen glanced over at you. “You good?”.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… haven’t really done this before”.

He smirked, eyes flicking back to the road. “First time clubbing?”.

You exhaled. “Yeah. Not exactly my scene”.

Jensen let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, figured as much”.

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”.

He shrugged, lips twitching. “You just seem… more like the ‘cozy night in’ type. Movie marathons, takeout, that kind of thing”.

Your heart skipped. He had known you for barely two days and somehow already had you pegged. “…Not wrong”, you muttered, crossing your arms.

Jensen smirked. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll make sure you survive”.

You swallowed. Kid. That damn nickname. You weren’t sure why it bothered you tonight. Maybe because you didn’t feel like a kid. Not in this dress, not sitting next to him like this, not with the way his voice sounded so smooth and effortless.

You needed a distraction. “So, why are you even doing this?”, you asked, shifting in your seat. “Taking me out, I mean”.

Jensen hummed, considering for a moment. “Well, AJ was very insistent”.

You huffed. “Yeah, that sounds like her”.

He glanced at you again. “And… you only turn twenty-one once. Figured you deserved a proper night out”.

Something about the way he said it—calm, certain—sent a shiver down your spine.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You do this often?”.

Jensen chuckled. “What, take barely legal girls to clubs?”.

Your face burned. “Oh my God—that’s not what I meant”.

He just laughed, shaking his head. “Relax, kid. I know”. Then, after a beat, he added, “And no. Haven’t really gone out much lately. Not my scene either, honestly”.

That surprised you. “Then why—?”.

He smirked. “Told you. Birthday rule. Plus, if I don’t do it, AJ will never let me hear the end of it”.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “She really does have you wrapped around her finger”.

Jensen sighed dramatically. “Tell me about it”.

The car slowed as he pulled onto a side street, the bright neon lights of the club flickering in the distance. He put the car in park, then turned to you, his expression suddenly more serious.

“Alright, some more ground rules”.

You straightened, nodding. “Okay”.

Jensen held up a finger. “One—stay where I can see you. I’m not dealing with you disappearing on me”.

You swallowed. “Got it”.

“Two—if any guy gives you trouble, you come find me”.

Your breath caught slightly. “Uh… okay”.

“And three—”. He leaned back, giving you a smirk. “Try to have some fun”.

You exhaled a laugh. “I’ll… do my best”.

Jensen grinned, then unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s go, birthday girl”.

Your stomach twisted as you stepped out of the car, the music from inside the club already thumping through the pavement. You weren’t sure if it was the nerves or the excitement making your heart race. But either way… there was no turning back now.

The bass from the club pulsed through the pavement as you followed Jensen toward the entrance. The neon lights cast an electric glow over everything, and for a moment, you wondered what the hell you were doing.

This wasn’t your scene. Not even close. But somehow, being here with him made it feel a little less terrifying.

Jensen walked up to the bouncer like he’d done this a hundred times before. The guy at the door barely glanced at him before unhooking the velvet rope. “Good to see you again, man”, the bouncer said, nodding.

Jensen smirked. “Appreciate it”.

You blinked. Wait.

“You know the bouncer?”, you asked as you followed him inside.

Jensen shrugged. “Told you, I picked a place that’s… familiar”.

You stared at him. “What does that even mean?”.

But Jensen just grinned. “Come on, let’s get a drink”.

The club was packed. Music blasted from the speakers, the air thick with heat and the scent of alcohol. Colorful strobe lights cut through the haze, illuminating the crowd of bodies moving in sync with the beat. Jensen led you through the mass of people, his hand hovering near the small of your back—not touching, but just close enough that you felt completely hyper-aware of his presence.

When you reached the bar, he turned to you. “What’s your poison?”.

You hesitated. “Uh… I don’t really know”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. First time and all”. He turned to the bartender. “Two whiskey sours”.

Your brows lifted. “Oh, we’re starting with whiskey?”.

Jensen smirked. “Trust me”.

The drinks arrived quickly. You took a cautious sip, the mix of citrus and smooth burn of whiskey hitting your tongue. “Okay”, you admitted. “Not bad”.

Jensen raised his glass. “Happy birthday, kid”.

You huffed. “Still with the ‘kid’ thing?”.

He smirked, taking a sip. “Force of habit”.

You rolled your eyes but clinked your glass against his anyway. As you drank, you let yourself take it all in. The music, the lights, the fact that you were here, in a club, drinking with Jensen Ackles. The absurdity of it all made you laugh under your breath.

Jensen arched a brow. “What?”.

You shook your head, smiling. “Just… this isn’t how I thought I’d spend my twenty-first birthday”.

Jensen leaned against the bar, smirking. “Better or worse?”.

Your stomach flipped. You licked your lips, setting your drink down. “Still deciding”.

He chuckled. “Well, we’ve got the whole night. Let’s see if I can change your mind”.

Before you could respond, the music shifted—something fast, infectious.

Jensen tilted his head toward the dance floor. “You gonna dance?”.

Your eyes widened. “Oh, uh… I don’t really—”.

“Bullshit”. He smirked. “Come on. Let’s see what you got”.

Your pulse skyrocketed. “Wait—you mean… with you?”.

Jensen just grinned and held out a hand. You stared at it, heart hammering. This was so not a good idea. And yet… You took his hand.

Jensen’s hand was warm, his grip firm but easy, like this wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t dragging you onto the dance floor in the middle of a crowded club. Your brain screamed at you to protest, to tell him you weren’t much of a dancer, that this was dangerous territory.

But you didn’t. Because the second he pulled you into the crowd, the music swallowed you whole. The bass thrummed through your chest, the lights flashing in shades of blue and red, bodies moving all around you in time with the rhythm. You barely had time to catch your breath before Jensen turned to face you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Relax”, he said over the music. “It’s just dancing”.

Just dancing. You exhaled sharply, trying to convince yourself of that. But then Jensen moved. He didn’t go all-in right away. Just a casual sway, easy and effortless, his body rolling with the beat like it was second nature. His hands stayed at his sides, giving you space, but his eyes? They were right on you. He was watching. Waiting.

Your pulse skyrocketed. Okay. Fine. You could do this. You started slow, mirroring his movements, testing the rhythm. It wasn’t that you couldn’t dance, it was just that you never had, at least not like this. Not with him.

Jensen grinned when he saw you loosen up. “There you go”.

The music picked up, and without thinking, you let your body move. The alcohol in your system helped, making you just a little bolder, a little less aware of your own awkwardness.

And then, Jensen stepped closer. Not too close. Not inappropriate. But close enough. Close enough that when the beat dropped, and you turned slightly, his hand found your waist, just for a second, just barely there. Your breath hitched.

He leaned in, his voice low, just above your ear. “See? Not so bad”.

You swallowed. “Not bad”, you managed, but it didn’t sound nearly as casual as you wanted it to.

Jensen smirked, his fingers brushing your waist again, so light, so subtle, you almost could have imagined it. But you didn’t. Because when your eyes met his, there was something different there. Something that made your whole body hum with awareness.

The song shifted again, something slower, heavier. Jensen didn’t move away. Neither did you. And just like that, the air between you changed. It was no longer just dancing. It was something else. Something neither of you had expected.

Your pulse was out of control. You barely thought as you grabbed your drink, tipping it back in one go, the alcohol burning its way down your throat.

Jensen watched, his smirk deepening. “Damn, kid”.

You ignored the way that nickname made your stomach flip, setting the empty glass onto the nearest table. When you turned back, Jensen was still right there, his green eyes glinting under the flashing club lights.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he reached for your hand. And spun you. A quick, fluid motion—his fingers barely grazing yours—until suddenly, your back was against his chest.

He wasn’t touching you—not fully—but he was close. Close enough that you felt the heat of him, the warmth of his breath as it fanned across your shoulder.

And now? Now, you were really dancing.

The beat pulsed through your veins, your body moving with the rhythm. The hesitation you’d had before? Gone. The alcohol, the music, the way Jensen’s presence wrapped around you like a second skin, it was all too much, and at the same time, not enough.

You let your hands lift slightly, swaying to the beat, and that’s when it happened. Jensen’s fingers, just barely, brushed against your hip. It wasn’t much. The lightest touch. But it sent a sharp jolt through your spine.

You swallowed hard, hyper-aware of him now. The way his body moved so easily behind you. The way he still wasn’t touching you fully, like he was waiting. Testing. Like he was seeing how far this could go.

And you? You weren’t stopping him.

Another beat, another sway. His fingers pressed—firmer, deliberate—just at the curve of your hip. Your stomach tightened.

“Still with me?”. His voice was low, rough, right against your ear.

Your breath stuttered. “Yeah”.

Jensen hummed, a sound that rumbled through your back. “Good”.

You didn’t know how long you danced. Didn’t care. Because for the first time in your life, you weren’t overthinking. You were just feeling. And damn, did it feel good.

Hours had passed in a blur of music, lights, and the heat of Jensen’s presence. You had danced longer than you ever thought possible, had another drink (or two, who was counting?), and somewhere along the way, you had lost every ounce of hesitation.

Now, however, reality was hitting you all at once.

You weren’t wasted, but you were definitely buzzed—that loose, giggly kind of drunk that made the world tilt just slightly when you walked.

And Jensen? He was handling you. Not in an overbearing way. Not in a “let’s go, you’re done” way.

No. He was calm. Collected. Like this wasn’t the first time he had to lead a tipsy twenty-one-year-old out of a club.

His hand rested firmly at your lower back as he guided you through the crowd, his grip steady whenever you swayed too much. “You’re lucky you’re a fun drunk”, he murmured as he pulled open the club’s side door, letting in the crisp night air.

You giggled, feeling way too warm. “What’s a not fun drunk?”.

Jensen smirked, keeping his pace slow as you walked toward the parking lot. “The crying ones. The aggressive ones. The ones who throw up in my car”.

You gasped dramatically. “I would never”.

Jensen huffed a laugh, unlocking the car. “Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way”.

You felt light. Giddy. Like this whole night was floating around you in some hazy, surreal dream. When you reached the passenger door, you turned, swaying slightly. “You know…”, you started, tilting your head. “You’re really good at this”.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, amused. “At what?”.

You blinked slowly, trying to find your words. “Taking care of people”.

His smirk softened just a little. “Comes with the territory”.

You hummed. “Yeah… you’re like… a responsible, sexy bodyguard”.

Jensen froze. Your own brain stalled. Did you—did you just say that out loud? A beat of silence.

Then, Jensen smirked. “Sexy, huh?”.

Oh. My. God. You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide. “Forget that. That wasn’t—that was nothing—”.

Jensen laughed. Like, full-on laughed. “Alright, lightweight, let’s get you in the car before you start confessing more things”, he teased, opening the passenger door.

You groaned, hiding your face. “I hate myself”.

Jensen nudged you toward the seat, still smirking. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll let that one slide”.

You huffed as you slid into the car, your face on fire. Jensen shut the door, walking around to the driver’s side. You exhaled deeply. You needed sleep. Water. A new identity, maybe. Because fucking shit. You just called him sexy.

The second Jensen started driving, you knew you were in trouble. Your head was still spinning, your body warm from the alcohol, the dancing, and—let’s be honest—him.

You couldn’t just sit here in awkward silence after what you’d said. You had to fix it. “I just meant”, you started, turning toward him in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, “you’re, like, objectively attractive”.

Jensen’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Oh no.

“Like—like, obviously. People would agree”, you continued, rambling. “You’ve got, you know, the whole… thing going on”.

He raised an eyebrow. “The thing?”.

You gestured vaguely. “Yeah. The voice, the muscles, the face. You know”.

Jensen exhaled sharply through his nose. “Shit, (Y/N)”.

You panicked. “But not, like, in a weird way! I just mean you’re, like… manly. Like, rugged. You’ve got that whole strong, protective, could-break-someone-in-half vibe”.

Jensen’s jaw flexed. His grip on the wheel went white-knuckle tight. You were making this worse. You gulped. “Like—not that I’d want to be broken in half, obviously—”.

Jensen let out a rough breath, shifting slightly in his seat. You had no idea that your innocent, drunk little rant was currently making his dick twitch. But it was. Because all he could think about now was you—dressed like that, pressed against him on the dance floor, moving without hesitation. And now, sitting in his car, talking like this. About him.

His jaw was tight. “Y/N”.

You perked up. “Yeah?”.

Jensen huffed. “Stop talking”.

Your mouth snapped shut. For a second, you swore the air in the car felt different. Heavy. Charged. You glanced at him, blinking. “Did I—did I say something wrong?”.

Jensen exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “No. You just… need to stop before you dig yourself in deeper”.

The rest of the drive was tense, but not because of any argument or discomfort. No, the tension was something else. Something thicker, heavier. Something Jensen should not have been feeling.

You sat there, legs crossed, fiddling with the hem of your dress, clearly buzzed and completely oblivious to what you had just done to him. To be fair, you didn’t know any better. You were young. Inexperienced. Completely innocent in ways you didn’t even realize.

And Jensen was not. That was the problem. That was why his grip was too tight on the steering wheel. That was why his jaw clenched every time your soft little voice rambled about how manly and strong he was.

Because you didn’t even realize what you were saying. Didn’t realize that any other man your age would’ve jumped at the chance to take advantage of the fact that you were sitting here, flushed and tipsy, calling him sexy without a second thought.

Didn’t realize that the words could break someone in half had sent a sharp, unwelcome pulse straight through him. Because he could. And that was the worst part—because you? You were so damn soft. So untouched. So sweet and nervous and trying so hard to make things right.

And here he was, a man nearly twice your age, trying not to think about how warm you’d felt against him hours ago. How easily you had melted into him when he’d spun you on the dance floor. How your breath had hitched when he touched your waist.

And now, you were sitting there, cheeks pink, babbling in that innocent little voice, so damn unaware of the effect you were having on him.

Jensen swallowed hard. This was not good. Not at all.

Then, your voice cut through the silence. “Are you mad at me?”.

He glanced over, blinking. “What?”.

You bit your lip. “I just… I didn’t mean to make things weird”.

Fuck. That lip.

He forced himself to focus. Shook his head. “You didn’t”.

You still looked guilty, your fingers twisting in your lap. “I just—sometimes I don’t know when to shut up”.

Jensen huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. I noticed”.

You made a little sound of protest, smacking his arm lightly. “Hey!”.

He smirked, glancing at you again, this time, really looking. You were so young. Too young to be in his car like this, looking at him like that, trusting him completely. And he needed to get his shit together. Fast.

Jensen exhaled. “Relax, kid. I’m not mad”.

You softened. “Promise?”.

His fingers flexed against the wheel. Fuck, you had no idea. But still, he nodded. “Promise”.

And when you smiled, looking relieved, Jensen knew. He had no business feeling the way he did. Because no matter how much your words had messed him up tonight… You were off-limits.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles the boys #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jackles #spn cast

154 notes · View notes